


Far From Home

by rurousha



Series: Raythe [1]
Category: Stargate - All Series, Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drama, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-15 05:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 39,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3435860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rurousha/pseuds/rurousha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years before Atlantis meets the Wraith, SG-2 meets a stranded alien.<br/>Takes place from season 5 to 7.  Canon-compliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Those aren't my stars

His left side was almost numb from too much pain.  He was pretty sure his left leg was shattered.  At the very least, it shouldn’t be twisted at an angle like that.

He needed to feed.  If he was going to survive his injuries, he needed to feed.

No, he needed to get out of his ship first.  He had crashed on land; hopefully the environment was breathable.  The hull had crushed in on the left, pinning his arm to his side where a support had buckled in and pierced his limb.  He didn’t think he could get that off by himself.

He used his right hand (thankfully uninjured, he would need it) to check his control panel.  Nothing was responsive.  The whole ship was shot.  The cockpit shield would need to be retracted manually.  He could do that.  He sunk he fingers into the release to the right, near the seat, and twisted clockwise.  The sealed film shifted back, letting in cold, fresh air.  It was dark out, he noted.  Maybe he could use the stars to figure out where he had landed, send a signal home.

He was so hungry.  Feed.  Survive.  Get home.

There was noise in the distance.  Voices.  Only a few of them and headed his way.  He hoped they were human.  That would solve one problem, at least.

It was just a moment more before strong, curious hands pulled the support from his arm and side.  He wasted no time, lashed out, and the man was dead in seconds.

He felt better already. 

The second one tried to run, but he stumbled over his own feet in fear.  He leapt out of the cockpit, sprang on him, ready, but then a fire exploded on his back. 

OK, ow.  He turned, saw four armored figures carrying staffs running toward him.  The staff tips exploded, and two shots of fire hit him in the chest.  Oh, that hurt quite a lot. 

He hit the ground, eyes to the sky.  His only thought before he blacked out was, _Those aren’t my stars._


	2. What do we call you?

**November 3, 2001**

“Isn’t this why SG-1 exists? To do this kind of heroic stuff?”

“Keep it down, Sands.” Major Michael Griff had only been commanding officer for a few weeks, and he had already been chased to the gate by Jaffa, had to climb a sheer cliff without gear, and had an allergic reaction to… something. He really didn’t know.

And now he was sneaking aboard an al’kesh to rescue a group of scientists that had gotten snatched by Bastet Jaffa. Thankfully, the ship was landed for repairs, so this wasn’t a space rescue.

Griff heard the distinct clomp of guards marching down the hall. He signaled Sands and Bell to duck into a storage closet to wait for them to pass. They squeezed in, and Griff slid the door closed just as the Jaffa turned the corner. He looked over his team as they passed.

Sergeant Jeffrey Bell was his alien tech expert and a good soldier. He kept his eyes open and his head on straight. A good shot, too.

Lieutenant Kylie Sands was a new recruit, and Griff was still getting used to her. She tended to talk too much. She wasn’t much in hand-to-hand combat, which she thankfully only had to use on the sparring mat so far. But she kept a level head in rescue operations, which was her specialty.

Search and rescue hadn’t really trained anyone for alien spaceships, though.

Once the guards passed, the team tip-toed out of the closet and continued down the hall. Sands had a good memory and had memorized the standard layout for all al’kesh. Griff followed her directions to the detainment level. Two more hiding spots, three zat blasts, and one quick grappling session with Bell, and they were in front of the cell with their scientists. All five of them were present, only one of which was an Air Force officer.

“Major, we are very happy to see you,” Lieutenant Calers said. It was dark inside the cell, and he and two others were pressed against the bars. In fact, all five team members seemed to be crowded in the front of the cell.

Bell started to dismantle the external lock and hook his computer into it.

“Lieutenant, what happened?”

“We were studying the ruins four miles from the stargate, sir. The al’kesh landed; we weren’t expecting it. Sir, Jaffa had already secured the gate by the time we got there.”

“Don’t worry, SG-12 has taken the gate back. They’re waiting for us. I’m more worried about getting there. Getting in seemed too easy.”

“You’re thinking a trap?”

“Unlikely,” a gravelly voice came from the darkened back of the cell. It seemed to almost echo in the confined space. “This is a skeleton repair crew. The only thing of any value at all on this ship is me. And I’m not worth much to them anymore.”

“Lieutenant?” Griff tried to peer into the dark over Calers’s shoulder. He could just make out the shape of a humanoid. Long, pale hair was the most detail he could see.

“We have a cell-mate, sir. He’s chained to the back wall. He, uh,” the soldier leaned in closer and dropped his voice a bit. “He tried to attack us when we came in. Hit Nova pretty hard in the chest. Nova’s OK, but we’ve been staying out of reach of his chains. I’m… pretty sure he’s not human.”

“You’re a grand total of twenty feet away; I can hear you.” Sardonic came through very well on that voice.

“Sir,” Bell said from Griff’s right. “Bastet uses a different coding system than Apophis. It’s going to take me at least ten more minutes to get into this.”

“I doubt we have that long, Bell.”

“You’re correct. There are at least four more soldiers coming down the hall you came from. They know you’re here,” the stranger in the back said.

“You can hear that?” Sands asked. She looked over from where she was supposed to be keeping watch down that very hall.

“I know the access code to open the door, too,” the shape in the back of the cell said.

“Really,” Griff said, dripping sarcasm and doubt.

“I hacked their computers weeks ago. I’ve already escaped once; it’s why they started chaining me up. Swear to take me with you, and I’ll give it to you.”

Any response Griff had was cut off by Sands’ weapon fire. She ducked back around the corner to avoid staff blasts. “Apparently he _can_ hear that far.”

“Apparently, you have a deal. Let’s hear it.”

“Seven one zero four four.”

Bell typed on his computer, and the cell gates slid open. Griff handed his backup weapon to Calers, and they joined Sands in the fight. Several volleys were exchanged, but neither side made any progress. “OK, let’s try this.” Griff pulled a flash-bang out of one of his vest pockets and pulled the pin. “Down.” The soldiers and scientists crouched down, closed their eyes, and covered their ears. Griff tossed the grenade around the corner, then quickly joined them. A loud bang later, and the firing stopped. Griff could hear moans around the corner, and someone bumped hard into the wall. “Hoo. Bell, make sure they stay down, yeah?”

Bell nodded, grabbed his zat gun, and knocked the Jaffa out.

Griff exhaled deeply. Which wasn’t the same thing as a sigh. Because he didn’t sigh. “OK, stranger. Let’s get everyone home.” He picked up one of the cell guards’ staff weapons and pulled his gun’s flashlight off its bracket. He held it along the staff so that he could use it as a sight in the dark room. The small light shone on the prisoner, catching white, stringy hair and long, black clothing that looked vaguely leather. Griff caught only a brief glance of the prisoner’s face, with an odd pattern of veins across the jaw, before the alien turned to avoid getting the light in his eyes. He pulled the chain taught and his hands apart. Griff held the staff level, aiming at the point where the chains on each hand joined to extend to the wall. A flash of gold light, and the chains exploded just a few inches below the manacles.

The prisoner gave a raspy sigh, then a growl. Griff took a step back, but the man just stepped slowly, carefully towards the light of the hall.

“So then, stranger, what do we call you?”

The light hit him, and he squinted as he looked up at it. The man was tall, more than six feet. His black clothes looked more like an armored trench coat than anything else. And Calers was definitely correct. He was not human. His skin was a waxy grey, almost green, and his lips were pulled tight against his pointed teeth. Dark blue blood vessels could be seen through his skin, and there were grooves on either side of his nose. A series of tattooed dots formed an ‘S’ pattern on the left side of his face with his eye in the middle.

He turned to look at Griff. “You call me Wraith.”


	3. Let Nothing Overcome

**Still November 11, 2001**

Hunger had been his constant companion these last months. But he needed to stay alert. _Don’t let the hunger overcome your senses._ That was what he had always been told. _Don’t let anything overcome your senses. Not hunger, not hate, not fear. Be aware, be thoughtful._ This was key to hunting, to exploration, to survival. He had almost forgotten it when the humans were thrown in the cell with him, and he attempted to feed on one. His fatigue made him clumsy, though, and he only succeeded in knocking the man down and ensuring that the others did not come near him.

Then a rescue party arrived. His senses returned with a chance of escape. He convinced the leader to let him free.

“You call me Wraith.”

There was no reaction beyond mild surprise at his appearance. No fear. That did not surprise him. The people that had caught him, the ones that appeared human but were not quite human, did not recognize him either. Wherever he was, the people did not know wraith.

How exciting.

“Like the Scottish ghosts?” the woman with the gun asked. The differences between human genders was minute, but the women at least had external shapes similar to that of wraith females.

He picked up a staff weapon from one of the unconscious Jaffa guards. “I don’t know what Scottish is, but I am not a ghost.” Then he fired the weapon into the guard’s chest.

“What the hell?!” The human leader grabbed the staff and pulled it up so that the tip was no longer pointed at anyone.

“This man was vicious, sadistic, and frequently bored. He was also my guard for several months. I will not apologize.”

The leader ground his blunt teeth against each other. This seemed to help him reach a decision because he let go of the weapon. “Alright everyone, let’s get out of here.” He led the group of eight back around the corner. 

He followed the humans. As weak as he was, he did not think he could escape the ship, let alone the planet, without them. They were remarkably well armed for humans and clearly militaristic. So at least they had that going for them. The woman that asked about ghosts earlier noticed him sway for a step. “Are you alright?” she asked.

“They have been starving me.”

“Why would they do that?”

They made it through several corners before they reached opposition, and he heard it before the humans did. Footsteps. Many of them. But not the armored boots of the Jaffa. The human leader held up his left fist and crouched down. The others followed suit. This apparently meant 'Stop and be quiet'. But these new arrivals did not wait for the humans to turn the corner. They came around firing blindly at them with those S-shaped electrical dischargers. He did not like those weapons.

One of the humans with him collapsed when he was hit. Three of the humans fired their weapons into the advancing mass while two others pulled the fallen man into an alcove of double doors. “I wonder where these doors go.”

“The dining room,” he answered immediately. This earned him a couple of odd looks. “What? Did you think your enemies did not eat?”

The response this time was an eye roll. He wasn’t sure what that meant. Still, the soldier pushed the doors open for the group to get inside. “Sir, this way.” The humans all ducked into the dining room with him, and one pushed a heavy table against the door. The room looked like most dining rooms he had seen. Tables, chairs, and too much heat.

“Ah,” the woman said to him. “We call this a mess hall.”

He ignored her and pulled a chair over to one wall.

“So much for a skeleton crew. That was a lot of soldiers.”

“They didn’t seem like soldiers to me, Calers.”

He stood up on the chair so that he could reach a ventilation grate. “They were slaves. The repair crew.”

“Dammit. We just fired on civilians.”

His hands shook, but he gripped the grate and, with a loud scrape and snap, pulled it free of the wall. “What are civilians?”

The leader gave him a look that he did not understand. “Nevermind. Can we get out that way?”

He stepped back down and nodded. “Not quietly, but yes.”

The one previously called Bell spoke up. “The nearest exit should be straight forward and to the left.”

“Lead the way,” the leader said. The humans became occupied with getting the scientists into the vents behind Bell. He realized that, for the first time since this started, no one was paying attention to him.

Good. Because he heard exactly what he was hoping for.

He slipped to the back of the room, away from the pounding on the double door. He quietly opened the doors into the cooking area - the kitchen, he thought it was called. He inhaled deeply.

And there she was. A slave girl, curled up under one of the sinks, quietly sobbing. He could barely see her behind the rows of counters. “Little girl, don’t worry. The invaders are leaving.” He heard a hiccup and a choked cry. He moved soundlessly around the counters and crouched down level with her. She startled back behind a pipe when she saw his face. “Shh shh.” He put a finger to her lips to stop a scream. She was young, he thought. An adolescent. Her eyes were enormous and wet, and he was close enough now to feel the fear in her heart. “Don’t worry. It’s over now.”

He thrust his palm to her chest, and she gasped in pain and surprise, her eyes widening even further. She choked on her voice as he drained the life from her, and his arm burned in relief. Finally. 

~

Outside and halfway to the gate, the SG teams ran full tilt towards the gate. Just because they couldn’t see anyone following them didn't mean no one was there.

Griff grabbed his radio. “SG-12, dial the gate. We’re on our way!”

“Sir, we lost Wraith!” Sands yelled.

Griff whipped his head around to check but saw no sign of the alien. Actually, he wasn’t sure he’d seen him since the vents. Had he even gotten into the vents with them? Damn, he couldn’t wait for the alien to catch up, if he was even following them in the first place. 

The team broke the tree line just as the vortex formed and stabilized into the stargate event horizon. Griff took position next to SG-12 to cover the escape of the scientists. All five made it through when a staff blast exploded on Bell’s back.

Griff and SG-12 opened fire towards the trees. A single Jaffa ducked behind a heavy trunk. Sands helped Bell dive behind the DHD. Luckily, Bell’s backpack took most of the damage from the blast. Griff continued to fire towards the tree as two members of SG-12 helped Bell through the gate. Then there was the distinct shape of an armored Jaffa flying out ten feet and landing on his face.

Wraith stepped out from the trees as the Jaffa stood and swung his staff weapon towards Wraith’s head. Wraith blocked, grabbed the front of the Jaffa’s armor, and kicked him square in the chest. The Jaffa stumbled back but immediately blocked a punch from Wraith. He tried to sweep Wraith’s feet out, but he jumped, kicked the Jaffa while in the air, landed, grabbed his shoulder, and twisted him to his knees. Before the Jaffa could recover, Wraith wrapped his arm around his head and broke the Jaffa’s neck.

The SG members looked on, a bit stunned. Wraith looked up at Griff. “Can we get off this rock now?”


	4. You need a name, stranger.

**November 13, 2001**

Two days later, Griff was on his way to yet another debriefing. Apparently bringing an alien home with you was cause for some commotion. This one was to actually include said alien, so that was progress at least.

Griff was pretty sure SG-1 never had to put up with this kind of thing. Didn’t Stargate Command just meet Teal’c and trust him immediately without any fuss? He was pretty sure that was what had happened.

Griff walked down the stairs to the conference room where General Hammond and, for some reason, SG-1 were already seated. The alien was standing by the window, looking at the stargate. Two airmen were hovering nearby. Based on how that last Jaffa faired, Griff doubted the airmen would be of any use should the alien turn hostile.

“You really need a name, stranger,” Griff said as he took a seat next to General Hammond. The alien turned at his voice. Griff noticed that he even stood a little straighter and took care to look him in the eye before responding. Apparently the alien acknowledged him as the leader.

“Actually, you’re subordinates gave one to me just this morning.” 

~

**Three hours earlier...**

There was a knock on his door. He had really never heard of any people that were so polite to their prisoners, for that was clearly what he was. This room was at least much more comfortable than that Goa’uld cell. It was certainly more than he ever expected from humans.

“Come in.”

One of the soldiers outside his door opened it for two other humans, ones he recognized from the rescue party two days previous. He had seen their leader a couple of times since then, but not them.

“Hi,” the female spoke first. “Sorry we haven’t had a chance to check up on you yet. There’s been a lot to report to the senior staff. We wanted to introduce ourselves. I’m Lieutenant Kylie Sands, and this is Sergeant Jeffery Bell.”

“Hi,” Bell said and held his hand out toward him. He looked at the hand for a moment. He had seen humans shake hands before, but clearly this practice would not extend to wraith. Or it should not, if they knew what was good for them. Which they obviously did not. So he put his hand in the human’s and chuckled at the man’s ignorance. “So, what’s your name?”

“Humans call us wraith.”

“Us?” the woman asked. “You mean that’s the name of your species.”

“Yes.”

“To us, wraith are monsters. Fictional ones. I’d rather not call you that,” she said.

“To humans, or at least all the ones I know of, I imagine we are monsters.”

“You are kind of freaky looking,” Bell said.

“Please. We saw Unas last year; you’re nothing.”

“So what’s your personal name?” Bell got the subject back on track. “Or, do wraith not have names?”

“We find your… sound-labels unnecessary. Our primary means of communication is much more direct and clearer than speech. We immediately know what or who the other is talking about. Names are just cumbersome.”

“Sadly, our cumbersome speech is the only one we got, so you’re going to need a name,” Bell said. “We can’t keep calling you ‘that tall alien guy that we broke out of Bastet’s grounded al’kesh two days ago’. If nothing else, it’s a mouthful.”

“Hm.” A smile tugged at his lips.

“What?”

“That was funny.” The humans seemed amused by this even more and chuckled. He continued, “I know nothing of human naming traditions, so perhaps you should name me.”

Bell spoke up. “Well, you don’t really look like a Joe Schmoe. And John Doe’s a bit cliché.”

“John’s a good name. A bit common, but nice. We could keep Wraith as his last name, which is traditionally the family name.” Sands directed this last comment to him. “Maybe spell it differently, though.”

~

“I have been given the name John Raythe. Apparently, the spelling is important.”

Griff raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. General Hammond seemed unaffected. “Well then, Mister Raythe,” the general said, “take a seat. I understand you’ve asked for asylum since coming here.”

“Yes.” The now-named Raythe sat down next to Teal’c. “Seeing your stargate has only confirmed my suspicions. I know none of the symbols on it. I don’t recognize your stars. Before being captured, I had never heard of Goa’uld, and you have never heard of wraith. The only conclusion I can come to is that I am in another galaxy. I have no idea how to get home.”

“He must be from a neighboring galaxy,” Doctor Jackson said. “One with stargates, like the Asgard’s galaxy. Theoretically, if you knew the address, we could dial your galaxy and send you home. But I don’t suppose you know your galaxy’s stargate address?” Raythe shook his head. “And we definitely don’t have anything that could power that kind of wormhole.”

“Thank you anyway. It is a relief to me to even know that return is possible.”

“Quick question,” Colonel O’Neill raised a hand. “How’d you get here?”

“That was my question,” Griff added.

“It is a bit of a mystery to me as well. I had just been awoken for a hunt. Our ship’s resources were depleted, so we stopped at a planet whose livestock population had been allowed to grow for a couple generations. I was to lead a squadron of warriors. It was my first command assignment. But before I was even able to enter the atmosphere, a strange… something appeared on my left and pulled my ship into it. I lost sensors immediately and flight controls were barely responsive. I crashed on one of Bastet’s planets.”

Captain Carter spoke up next. “It’s possible you hit a natural wormhole. Like what the stargate creates, but much less stable and completely unpredictable.”

“It’s a miracle you’re alive, son,” General Hammond said. “We’re glad for that, at least. And we understand that you’re not keen to wander around a strange galaxy dominated by the Goa’uld.”

“But what happened to your crashed ship?” Teal’c asked. “Certainly Bastet attempted to incorporate its technology into her own.”

“Yes,” Raythe answered. “They tried to make me explain the technology to them. But when I was taken to my ship to show them how it worked, I activated the self-destruct instead. It is not acceptable for a wraith to allow technology to fall into enemy hands. After that, they left me to starve in my cell.”

“We’re sorry to hear that,” Doctor Jackson said. “And I think we should be clear. We would love to learn about your technology, but no one here is going to force you to tell us.”

“Thank you. It is, after all, not my choice to make.”

“Is that why you wouldn’t let Doc Frasier examine you?” Griff asked.

~

**November 12, 2001**

“What’s this?” The woman – she introduced herself as Doctor Frasier – held his right hand in both of hers and examined his palm. She was understandably interested in the slit framed by a series of shallow grooves.

“You don’t know?”

She shook her head.

“Then I think I should not tell you.”

~

“Yes. While you are unlike any humans I have ever heard of, I do not know how my species will react to you. And it is not my place to decide for them. I have no right to give away the secrets of my entire species. Such decisions should be left only to a council of queens.”

“That’s alright, son,” General Hammond said. “And Doctor Frasier said that so long as you are willing to give blood samples to check for pathogens, which will immediately be destroyed, and submit to an ultrasound to check for Goa’uld implantation, you don’t have to have a regular exam.”

“General, it’s against my beliefs to have a prostate exam every physical. Do I get out of it?” 

“Shut up, Colonel.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mister Raythe, you are welcome to Stargate Command, at least until you decide to go somewhere else. I need to stress, however, that you cannot leave the base so long as you’re on the planet.”

“Yes, sir. It was already explained to me that my appearance on your planet would be something of an upset. I understand that your… civilians?... do not know of the stargate or of life beyond your Earth. Which I admit seems odd to me. I cannot envision being tied to the land even with use of the stargate network, let alone being forced to remain on a single planet.”

“We manage somehow,” the general responded.

“Still, while I am here, I would like to be of use. Perhaps I could help your exploration teams. It would give me the chance to search for a way home.”

“I’ll consider it. Is there anything else you’d like to ask for now?”

“One more thing. I am confused by chain of command. It is much more complicated than mine. Is there someone that could explain your ranking system to me?”

Griff responded instead of the general. “I’ll send Sands around with a regulation manual. It’ll explain our divisions of military, the ranks, and basic rules.”

“Thank you.”

“Airmen, would you escort Mister Raythe back to his room. He also has clearance to go to the mess hall, the infirmary, and the gym.”

“Yessir.”

Once Raythe and his escort had left, General Hammond turned to Griff.

“What are your thoughts on him, Major?”

“I’m not sure, really. He seems genuine in his desire to join us and help, but he’s definitely hiding something. Something about him puts me on edge.”

“Well, yeah,” Doctor Jackson said. “He said he was hiding things. He doesn’t want to give us information about his technology or his people. Any one of us would do the same in his position.”

“Given that the collection of technology is one of our primary goals, that’s going to be hard for the Pentagon to swallow, especially if he joins the Stargate Program,” Captain Carter added.

“That occurred to me, too,” General Hammond said. “For now, I’ll leave the fact that these wraith from another galaxy have fully-functional space craft out of my reports. Maybe he’ll tell us more when he trusts us more. And, if we ever do meet the rest of his species, maybe he can put in a good word for us. So be careful, people.”

This seemed to be a generally accepted dismissal because everyone started to gather their things and leave. Teal’c, however, leaned over the table to Griff. “Major Griff. I feel I should warn you that he puts me, too, on edge. There is a danger in him. I would watch him very carefully.”

“Yeah, I thought so. Thanks Teal’c.”


	5. Fitting In

**November 14, 2001**

“Bell, what happened to you?” Griff found the sergeant in the bathroom leaning over a sink. He was holding a bloody paper towel to his nose.

“Uh heheh. Rayzthe,” Bell said thickly. Griff thought Bell might be grinning behind his hand.

“Raythe punched you in the nose?” Oh, maybe Teal’c was right. If this guy was picking fights, that was going to be trouble real fast. Especially if he really was as strong as Griff suspected.

“Yeb. Oh, no. No.” Bell pulled the paper towel away so that he could speak normally. “He’s in the gym, sir. On the sparring mat. Guys were going two on one with him, last I saw. You should really see it, sir. I just hope Teal’c gets in there soon and redeems us.”

“If his fight with that Jaffa is anything to go by, I’m sure he’s impressive.”

“No. Well, yes, he is. But that’s not what you need to see.”

“Oh?”

“Let’s just say that I think he read that regulations manual.”

~

It was immediately obvious what Bell meant. The sparring mat was on the right side of the room, nothing more formal than some falling mats set up in a ten foot square. At that moment, there were half a dozen men on both sides, goading on those in the middle. Raythe was blocking attacks from two marines, using his quick feet to keep one in between him and the second at all times.

He looked… different. The hair was most obvious. Raythe must have found someone to cut it, because it was short and slightly spiked. It actually looked a little silly on him. He had also abandoned his heavy black coat and pants for standard SGC blues. Griff didn’t see any of the ornamentation on the alien’s hands, either. It was hard to be sure from Griff’s distance, but he thought Raythe’s previously pointed nails may have even been filed short.

Well, he was certainly making the effort to fit in, Griff would give him that.

Raythe spun to block a kick and spotted Griff. He immediately straightened and stood at attention. The action made the others in the room notice the officer, and they separated slightly to make space.

“No, don’t let me stop you,” Griff raised a hand to wave them off. Then he changed his mind and stepped onto the mat himself. “Actually, let’s see what you’ve got.”

The grinning soldiers stepped off the mat to give Griff some space. He was creating a spectacle, he knew, but he needed a better feel for this guy. Maybe fighting him would give him some insight.

He hoped.

Griff brought up his fists, and Raythe mirrored him, though he left his hands open. Griff decided to get a move on and threw a few punches. Raythe blocked easily enough with his palms and kicked at Griff. Griff blocked and spun to swing an elbow into Raythe’s ribs.

Then, before he even realized where Raythe was, Griff felt his feet sweep out underneath him, and he landed hard on his back. Raythe’s palm immediately slammed into his chest to pin him down. And Griff saw his eyes. There was an intensity there, and Griff felt the air leave his body. God, Raythe was a predator. He was going to kill him.

“Geez, Raythe, didn’t anyone ever teach you to go easy on your elders?” one of the soldiers said.

“No, never.” Raythe pulled his hand back and offered it to Griff to help him up. He seemed to struggle for a second on what to say. Then, “Sir.”

~

 _All beings need to eat._ Raythe recalled his Guide once telling him. _Wraith, Lantians, humans, birds, insects, microorganisms. All beings eat. But not everyone agreed on what should be eaten. This fundamental fact was what made humans so angry all the time. They couldn't accept it._ Raythe had once seen a human male try to fight off Raythe's warriors when they took his daughter, despite the fact that the man was outnumbered and the girl was dying already. She had been beyond help, but the man still fought. Pointless. But Raythe was glad to have learned this lesson early.

Humans did not approve of what wraith ate. If Raythe was to fit in with these humans, for however long that was needed, he needed to act more like them. And they would expect him to eat.

So, he sat in their mess hall (which did not appear especially messy) every day and ate their food while two airmen stood at the doors. The humans in the room attempted to ignore him, but he frequently caught uneasy glances cast his way.

He didn't know why humans seemed to enjoy eating so much. While he had never eaten like this before, he didn't especially enjoy the rubbery feel of most of it. Being served today was something called spaghetti. He was nearly done with the plate of food when the woman from Major Griff's unit - Sands, he recalled - sat down across from him. She set her own tray down and smiled at him. "Hey," she said. "Mind if I join you?” Raythe shrugged. “I see you read that manual I gave you." She indicated Raythe’s newly-cut hair.

"Yes... Thank you." Raythe wondered what she was doing here, with him. She didn't seem to have any of the wariness of the others in the room.

"I just wanted to let you know that if you have any questions about humans or Earth or the Milky Way galaxy, I'm happy to answer them. I love to explain things. And talk in general."

"I'm getting that."

"So, how have you're first days at Stargate Command been?"

Raythe looked over at his guards. One waved as if to let him know he was still looking. "Heavily supervised."

Sands' smile slipped a little. "Oh, yeah, sorry. We've had trouble in the past from off-worlders wandering around. The security will come off of you eventually."

"I understand. I would not let a stranger wander my home without an escort, either. Especially at what is clearly a military center."

"Oh yeah, that reminds me. You didn't know what civilians were, did you? Do you not know the word? Civilians are non-military people. You know, they do normal jobs, like practice medicine or, I don't know, pick up the garbage."

"I have never heard of civilians. We, of course, have individuals trained to do... normal... jobs. I, myself, specialized in navigation. But all are soldiers. All fight for the community and our Queen when we are needed."

"Huh. No civilians. Weird. We have stratocracies, but nothing like what you're describing."

"You have people who do not fight when you're at war?"

Sands snorted lightly. "Most the people on our world don't even know we're at war. At least, not the war with Goa'uld. The stargate isn't public knowledge."

"Why not? Every human civilization I know of centers their communities around the stargate if they are able."

"We only found our stargate a few years ago. I think our leaders are afraid that people might freak out if they knew aliens existed. Or that everyone might want to use the stargate. And that's simply not feasible with a population as a large as Earth's."

"Why," Raythe asked as he twirled some noodles around his fork. "How big is it?"

"Um, about six billion people."

All the air suddenly left Raythe's lungs, and he fumbled his fork. He opened his mouth a couple of times to speak, but nothing came out.

"You've, um, stabbed your hand with your fork."

"Yes, I seem to have done that."

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"How can your planet possibly be large enough to sustain a population that size? Don't you fight with each other over space and resources? That can't even be possible, can it?"

"Seriously, your hand."

Raythe pulled the fork out of his palm. "Focus, Lieutenant. Giant planet. Overpopulation."

"Fine. No, we're not an especially large planet. Yes, we're overpopulated. Yes, it causes problems."

“Well, I would imagine, yes. I think you’re planet might have more humans than my entire galaxy. No wonder you have no respect for women; with a population that large, you take them for granted.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Our species respects women. A lot more than we did a few decades ago, anyway. We’re allowed to have jobs, own property, even fight in the military.”

"No wraith with any semblance of honor would allow a female into combat."

This seemed to be the wrong thing to say, because Sands' mouth went flat. "Our society used to think like that. It used to be that women were thought to be weaker and too emotional, so they weren't allowed to fight or lead. It's taken a long time to change that."

Raythe's eyebrows drew together. What odd ideas these humans had. "Women were considered inferior to men?" Sands nodded, and Raythe thought she was rather annoyed with him. "Wraith do not think that at all. Our females are far superior. They are stronger, mentally and physically. They have better instincts, are longer-lived, and the life of a single Queen is worth thousands of the lives she rules. Perhaps it is different with humans. You do not recognize your own worth because there are so many females. I have estimated nearly twenty percent of your population to be female."

"What? No. That's just in the military. In general, half of our population is female."

Raythe eyes widened. "Half? No wonder you reproduce so quickly."

"Well, what's it like with wraith populations?"

"Less than one percent of all natural-born wraith are female."

"Holy crap!" Sands' outburst caused some others in the mess hall to look towards their table. Sands didn't seem to notice. "Well, yeah, that would be why you don't let the women fight. Jeez. One woman dies, and that entire community wouldn't have a next generation."

"Yes." Finally, she understood. Humans were a bit dense, apparently. "The birth of a female is a highly celebrated event. The child is raised and protected by the strongest and oldest of wraith. Unlike males, they are never put into incubation pods through adolescence so that they can learn as much as possible."

"Ugh. Incubation pods. Sounds like an unpleasant childhood."

"I can't say I remember it much."

“Do you really live your whole life in space? The major mentioned it earlier.”

“Yes. We train for hunts on land, but we live on ships.”

“Hunts?”

“Yes. We have to get our supplies from planets. While our technology could simply harvest any animals we need, we have decided to remember our roots as predators and learn to track and hunt. The older mentors put tracking devices on especially difficult prey so that they can follow the progress of the youth in their charge. I myself was the best tracker in my unit.” If he puffed his chest out a bit at that, who was to blame him. His Guide had always been impressed with his tracking skills.

Sands gave a breathy laugh. “You sound kind of like Klingons.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“But wait, you can’t’ve evolved in space, could you? I mean, you seem pretty similar to us. But I would expect you to be completely different if you had evolved in space.”

Raythe hesitated a moment. He would have to be careful here. These people clearly worshipped the Lantians. Mentioning their involvement in Wraith evolution would probably not work in his favor.

"Sorry, I don't want to put you on the spot or anything,” Sands said. She had apparently caught on to his apprehension and backpedalled. For a race so without connection to one another, they were rather perceptive. 

"No, it should be alright. This is not a secret. You're correct; we were once planet-dwellers, like you. But we were a curious and adventurous species. Once we learned to use the stargate, we travelled quite extensively. But we were also an ambitious species, and we often came into conflict with native species, mostly humans. Left alone, this may have simply looked like the land disputes of any other world, but there was another, much more technologically advanced species in the galaxy. They studied the humans and were possessive of them. They told us to leave and remain on our planet. We refused. We do not respond well to being bullied. I think our peoples have this in common. But they had the means to cut us off from our stargate. They stranded us on a single planet, never allowing us to explore further. I suppose their arrogance led them to believe that because they had superior technology, they had the right to dictate the fates of whole worlds."

"Jerks. They sound kind of like Goa'uld. 'I have the big guns, so you have to do what I say.'"

"The similarities have not escaped me. But we had no choice in the matter. And so long as we were on our home world, we were left alone. But we did not remain stagnant. Rather than be ruled by the aliens and the stargate, we built ships. Ones large enough for entire colonies. We travelled the stars instead of the lands. And, I think, we are the better for it. As I imagine the Jaffa will be one day, once they are free from the Goa’uld."

"That must be amazing. Living in space."

"It is... quite beautiful."

"So what happened to the aliens? The jerks."

Raythe grinned viciously. "They paid for their arrogance."

~

"So, what do you think of him?" General Hammond gestured for Major Griff to take a seat across from him at his desk.

Griff refused to sigh. He had been expecting this question for days now. For some reason, SGC personnel kept coming to him with questions about the base’s new ‘John Raythe’. "I'm fine with letting him out for missions, but I don't know if I want him backing me up when my team gets into trouble. And I really don't want him around when we're trying to make friends with the natives."

"Oh? Everyone else I’ve spoken to has high praises for him. Or at least his combat skills. And, apparently, he can read Ancient. Called it ‘the language of the gatebuilders’. Several unit leaders have already requested him on their team."

"I don't know. It's not one thing in particular, I don't think. I mean, he plays the good soldier whenever an officer is in the room, and he's trying to fit in with the troops and the scientists, but... Some of the things he says, sir. Or, the way he killed that Jaffa guard."

"You mean when you first rescued him? I was under the impression that guard tortured him for some time."

"Yeah, and I really don't know if I would've done any different in his position. But... it was just so easy for him. And that Jaffa at the gate, too. He was ruthless. He didn't even know what a civilian was. As stupidly idealistic as it sounds, I don’t know if I want someone that cold interacting with people we’re trying to make allies of.”

“You’re worried that you can’t trust him to make moral decisions when in the field?"

“Yes sir. I think that’s a good way of putting it.”

“Well, he’s certainly a special case, and I’m not going to push him on to any team. I simply thought I should make the offer to you first since he specifically requested your command.”

“He – he did?” Griff was truly stunned. He had barely spoken to the alien in the past few days, and he hadn’t thought there was anything special about their interactions. Beyond Griff breaking him out of prison, anyway. Obviously.

“Yes, Major, he did. He seems to have imprinted you as his commanding officer.”

“If you just mentally compared Raythe to a baby duck and me to its mother, you can forget that right now.” Griff rethought that for a second. “Sir.”

Luckily Hammond had a sense of humor. He simply smiled at Griff. “Well, I’ll keep looking for a place for Mr. Raythe.”

~

“Do you like it?” Sands asked, pointing to Raythe's plate of food. For some reason, his comfort here seemed important to her.

Raythe shrugged. “It’s adequate. It is very different from what I am used to, but if it is nourishment enough for you, it should work for me.”

“But do you like it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s more to meals than nourishment.”

Raythe thought on the other times he had been in the mess hall. Humans did seem to eat a variety of foods, which was odd. Wouldn’t it be more efficient to create one food that supplied all the nourishment they needed? What was the point beyond that? 

He looked around the room. Everyone sat in clusters at tables, chatting and laughing. Maybe that was what she meant. “You mean the socialization? I have noticed that eating seems to be a social tool to humans.”

“Well, yes, that’s true, but that’s not – oh here.” She placed one of her plates in front of him. Raythe recognized the food as one that the cooks said had poor nutritional value. “Try this.”

“Why?”

“Just do it. I’m beginning to get a hunch about the way you eat.”

Raythe looked at her. She was smiling and practically vibrating, and Raythe thought he was being teased. Best to find out why. He sliced a piece of the food off and put it in his mouth.

Well, that was new. The outside of it was hard, but the inside was soft and a bit warm. It was thick and wet, and his underused taste buds were learning a few new adjectives. “I – This is – .“ He framed his fingers over the food in an attempt to find the word.

“Good?”

“Yes. There is something about this that is very good. What is it?”

Sands’ smile turned into a full-out grin. “Pie. Apple pie, specifically.”

“Well, I like it. What do they do to it to make it better than all the other food?”

“It’s called sugar. And cinnamon.”

Raythe quickly shoved the rest of the pie into his mouth and said, “Is there more?” His words came out garbled because the food was in the way, and Sands apparently found this hilarious. She burst out laughing, and Raythe realized that two nearby soldiers were smiling in their direction.

“Hillman,” one of the soldiers called to the cook on the other side of the counter, “I think we’re going to need more pie.”

~

Griff heard a fair level of noise coming from the mess hall before he even opened the door. Inside, he found Sands and four other personnel, including the cook Hillman, sitting at a table with Raythe. The table was littered with dessert plates of apple pie, walnut brownies, and snickerdoodles. The group was all laughing at something.

“World peace through chocolate; it’s so simple!” Sands said.

“I believe it has sound applications,” Raythe replied with a grin and a laugh.

Then Hillman doubled over laughing.

“Stop, stop laughing, you’re going to set me off again,” Raythe said. “What’s so funny this time?” 

“It’s *gasp* the way you laugh.”

Raythe’s voice came out stuttered as he tried to hold in another laugh. “What?”

“You’re voice is all echo-y and dramatic, so it sounds like you’re an evil mastermind or something,” Sands explained. She inhaled deeply, but that just seemed to set her off more. “But it’s about dessert, so it’s just really out of context.” She started giggling. 

Griff suddenly realized that a lot of the tension from the past few days had melted away in just the last few seconds. It was nice to see everyone so relaxed. He stepped towards the table. Raythe spotted him and started to stand up. “No no. I’m just grabbing this.” Griff bent over Sands and retrieved a brownie plate. “The brownies are mine.”

“All of them, sir?” Huh, if the smart-ass little smile was anything to go by, then Raythe had caught on to the fact that he was joking. Good to know that these Wraith had more humor than most Jaffa he’d met. He was remarkably relieved. Psychopaths and super villains had a tendency to take themselves way too seriously. If Raythe could laugh at himself, then he couldn’t be all bad.

“Yes, all of them, soldier. And Raythe? SG-2 is leaving on a mapping mission tomorrow at oh nine hundred hours. I’ll be expecting you there.”

Sands’ smile showed all her teeth, and Raythe sat up a bit straighter, still sporting a smile of his own. “Yes sir.”


	6. I think, therefore

**November 30, 2001**

This had to be some sort of test. There was no way that SG-2 normally went on this many ‘look at the Lantian ruins’ missions. Or Ancients, Raythe reminded himself. The Earthlings called Lantians Ancients. He would have to be careful about that.

Anyway, this was the third ruin study Raythe had done, which didn’t make any sense. If their SG number designated their importance at the SGC (and that did seem to be the case), then SG-2 really should be doing more interesting work. So this had to be some sort of probation period for Raythe’s benefit.

He could deal with that. No matter how mind-numbingly boring it was.

Raythe kicked a rock into the tall grass. They were only a few hundred yards from the gate. The ‘ruins’ were really just a few pillars with Ancient chiseled into them. They were collapsed into loose dirt that was almost sand. The area immediately around them was waist-high grass, and there were sparse trees a little further away.

Bell swept an EM sensor around the pillars. “I’m not picking up any energy readings. Looks like the stone pillars really are just stone.”

Griff sighed. Raythe suspected he was also tired of these missions. “Alright, then. Raythe, you’re up. Get to translating.”

Raythe pulled his backpack off and dug around in it for a notebook. He found it difficult to translate directly from Ancient to Human (English, they called it), so he had to work everything out in Wraith first.

“How many Ancient ruins can there be in the galaxy?” Sands muttered as she started to circle the area. 

Raythe looked over at her as she spoke, then stopped. Something had just moved out of the corner of his eye. He scanned the area, but there was nothing. He didn’t see any movement in the grass, which seemed the most likely hiding place.

“Raythe, what’re you staring at?” Bell called from over by one of the pillars.

“Apparently nothing.” He turned and started to walk to Bell. 

A flutter of movement.

Raythe spun back towards Sands, grabbing uselessly for a stunner than wasn’t there. Right, the handgun strapped to his thigh. He drew it, startling Griff to point his P-90 in the direction Raythe was looking. 

“Raythe, what the hell are you doing?” the annoyed major asked.

“There’s something here. I’m not sure where.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“I think he might be right, sir,” Sands called from over at the edge of the grass. “There’s an indent in the sand that might be a pawprint, and a parting in the grass, about two inches wide.”

“Two inches sounds like a large rodent or a small cat, Lieutenant. Not exactly a threat.”

“Yeah, probably.” Sands straightened up from where she was bent over the sand.

There it was again. Raythe definitely saw the sand move. Like a ripple that lasted for just a second, moving towards Sands. “Lieutenant, I think you should step over this way. Quickly.”

Sands gave Raythe an odd look but started towards him.

The ground exploded in a shower of sand. And the beast that came up with it was definitely not a small cat.

It was at least six feet long and three feet wide but only a few inches tall. It hadn’t burrowed into the ground, Raythe realized. It had just lain completely flat with a single layer of sand on top of it, like those flat fish that lived on some ocean floors. Its mouth was a wide gap of teeth on the underside of its body, and it used its six spindly legs to launch itself up to Sands’ head height before she even realized what was happening.

Raythe opened fire. The bullets hit its enormous body, and the beast recoiled away from the hits. Raythe didn’t see any blood, though. He realized that its skin must be quite tough.

Griff let off a burst of bullets, and the thing backed away towards the grass.

Then the most astonishing thing happened. In just a couple seconds’ time, the beast’s entire mass shifted up, making it three feet tall and only two inches wide instead of the other way around. It raced into the grass, folding itself around the blades so that its exact position was impossible to determine.

“Jesus Christ, did you see that?” Bell shouted. “It’s like it didn’t even have bones.”

Sands was panting out of shock, but she managed to point behind the rest of the team, in the direction of the stargate. “I think we’re about to see more of them.”

Raythe spun around. The grass on several sides was moving rapidly.

“Climb!” Griff shouted at them all. “Climb, everyone climb the pillars.”

All four of them ran for the stones. Bell was already on top of one of the fallen ones and reaching for a handhold on the tallest of the vertical ones when Raythe caught up to him. Raythe quickly reached the top and helped Bell up, but they realized there was an immediate problem. The pillar was only about four feet by four feet, and they weren’t all going to fit with their gear on. “Ditch the packs!” Raythe yelled as he tossed his backpack. He helped Bell out of his larger one as Griff and Sands just made it up. 

One of the eel-like creatures dove up after Griff’s foot but only made it up about half way. Two more quickly followed, the longest of which was nearly eight feet long. None were able to reach all the way up, even when one of them flattened itself and tried to slither up.

“OK, I think we’re OK for right now,” Sands breathed. Everyone exhaled deeply as the immediate threat of death faded.

And then the oddest thing started to happen. Griff started to laugh. Raythe craned his head over to look, but couldn’t see anything funny. Bell and Sands shrugged at each other.

“Uh, sir?” Bell asked, a bit tentative. It was beginning to sound like their commanding officer had lost it.

“My life is so weird. I’m on another planet, trapped up an artifact by a giant grass eel, with an alien from another galaxy, a Korean wrestler, and a pararescue that bakes cupcakes on the weekend.”

Bell and Sands seemed to find this amusing because they started to chuckle, but Raythe was mostly just confused. Still, it seemed like the kind of comment that required a response. “I like Lieutenant Sands’ cupcakes.” 

That resulted in full belly laughs from every other member of the team, and Griff had to hang on to Bell’s shoulder to keep from losing his balance and falling off. 

“I don’t understand.”

They kept laughing. Sands waved at him and said, “Somehow you made that sound dirty.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Oh, I’ll explain later.” Sands did like to explain things.

“This is kind of like a scene from that one movie,” Bell said.

“ _Tremors_?” Sands supplied. 

“That’s the one.”

“Alright, alright, we’ll have a showing later. Right now, we need to figure out a way down that doesn’t get us eaten,” Griff said.

“It appears to have only rudimentary eyes,” Raythe began.

“You’re thinking it hunts by the vibrations in the ground?” Sands asked.

“Well, yes, but I was mostly thinking that it usually hurts to have one’s eyes shot. Its hide seems quite sturdy and effective at repelling bullets. The eyes might be a possible target.”

Griff shrugged. “Sounds like a plan to me. It looks like the two of you have the best shot.”

Bell and Raythe were side by side, and one of the eels was attempting to push itself up the side of the pillar. “I’ll take one side, you take the other,” Bell said. Raythe nodded, and both pointed their handguns down at the creature. It was in its narrow shape, so both had shots of an eye on each side of what passed as its head.

They fired. The thing shrieked. Its center of gravity was too far from the pillar, and it fell backwards. It flopped around in the sand for a bit before it righted itself and ran into the grass. 

“One down,” Bell said.

“Uh oh,” Griff muttered. Raythe couldn’t really see what elicited the comment, though.

“One of the eels is climbing the fallen pillar. Like we did,” Sands explained.

“I have an idea, but it might get us all killed.” Griff pulled a grenade out of one of the pockets in his flak vest. He pulled the pin and grasped the grenade tightly. “Get ready to jump and run.”

“I hate this plan,” Bell said. 

“At least you’re on the other side of the crazy grenade-wielding major over here,” Sands yelled.

The eel growled and leapt up at Griff. Griff dropped the grenade into the thing’s wide open mouth. It swallowed. 

“Run!” 

No one needed telling twice. In fact, Sands had already jumped, and she landed and rolled across the sand just a second before Bell did. Raythe landed on his feet. The last eel turned for him.

The explosion lacked the raining body parts everyone was hoping for, but it rocked the pillar and knocked the last eel off balance for a second. Raythe saw Griff jump gracelessly as he lost his balance too and landed hard into the ground. Bell helped him up, and the four ran for the gate. 

They were halfway there when the eel recovered its footing and chased after them. Sands opened fire with her P-90, which stalled it but did little damage. 

“Dial the gate,” Raythe said. “I’ll keep it off us.” He pulled his tactical knife out of its sheath and waited.

Sands got to the DHD first and began to dial.

The eel shrieked at Raythe. He crouched down and growled back. The eel dove, and he ducked to the side, sliding behind its front right foot. It turned sharply, twisting in on itself, but Raythe was ready for it. When it opened its mouth for him, he shoved his whole arm in and thrust the blade into the roof of its mouth.

The beast screamed and flailed away from him, nearly toppling over sideways in the process. It ran, and Raythe had to jump out of the way to avoid its tail slamming into his side. But run it did.

The wormhole burst open in a flash of blue light. No one went through immediately.

“Raythe, you are completely insane,” Bell said.

Raythe stood up with as much dignity as he could muster while covered in sand and grass. “I can’t speak with certainty about my sanity, but I am alive, and that’s all that really matters. Or, at least, I think I’m alive. I don’t think I would be thinking this if I weren’t.”

Sands smiled thinly. “’I think, therefore I am?’”

“Yes, that seems an apt way to put it. Oh, what’s funny now?” The humans were laughing at him again.

Griff entered his IDC into his wrist pad. “Alright, children, let’s go home.”


	7. Kind of Awesome

**December 6, 2001**

Hunger was becoming an issue again. His last feeding really should have lasted him longer than this, but he had already been starving. But he could last a couple weeks yet, if he really had to.

Preferably not.

‘ _Unscheduled off-world activation._ ’ The alarms sounded immediately after the voice spoke over the PA. Raythe had never met anyone as obsessed with keeping time as the Earthlings. Still, perhaps this unscheduled arrival would break the tedium of the past few days.

He rolled off of his narrow bed and walked across his room to the door. Best to see what was happening.

It took nearly ten minutes to get from his quarters to the conference level. Soldiers kept hustling importantly in the hall, in his way. Something must actually be happening, then. A security officer stopped him from entering, though. “Major Griff is already in there. He’ll be out to talk to you when he’s ready.”

“Hey, what’s going on?” Bell asked as he came up behind him.

Raythe shrugged. “Not sure yet, but we had better get Kylie.” 

Kylie. Their naming traditions continued to get more complicated.

~

**December 1, 2001**

Sands, Bell, and the Jaffa Teal’c were sitting in the rec room teaching Raythe a game of chance and observation called poker. He was finding it very educational in terms of learning the subtleties of human body language and expression, which he found much more informative than their words. 

Also, he was winning spectacularly. 

“I’ll call. And have another cookie.” Sands handed him another one of her oatmeal crème pie cookies. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“You’re going to get fat at the rate you’re going,” Bell said. He seemed rather bitter.

She laughed lightly at him. “You know, when we’re off duty you can call me Kylie. It’s my given name.”

Bell pointed at himself without looking up from his cards. “Jeff.”

Teal’c raised an eyebrow at them. “Teal’c is the only name I have. I have found it sufficient thus far.”

Raythe liked Teal’c. 

“And what should I call Major Griff when off duty?”

Sands and Bell looked at each other. Then, simultaneously, “Major Griff.”

~

A few minutes later, six SG leaders, including Major Griff, filed out of the conference room to the small crowd that had gathered in the hall. He motioned for his team to follow him to his office, which was on the same level.

“Everyone gear up, quickly as possible,” he barked as soon as they were clear of the movement in the hall. “P4X-292 has been attacked by Anubis’ Jaffa.”

Raythe looked at Sands in question.

“Uh,” she snapped her fingers a couple of times, apparently to help her remember, “P4X-292 is a colony of freed human slaves that we helped to found last year.”

“What kind of resistance are we looking at, sir?” Bell asked.

“An al’kesh and a full regimen of Jaffa. From the sound of it, they’re not just blasting the place from the sky, thank God. We think they’re trying to retake the population as slaves.”

“And General Hammond cleared SG units to defend them?” Bell asked. It did seem unlikely that the general’s superiors would risk Earth resources for such a mission.

“Actually, we’re hoping to capture Anubis’ first prime. Secondarily, we would also like information on Osiris’ whereabouts.”

 _Or, that’s what General Hammond is going to tell the Pentagon,_ Raythe read more than heard. Griff spent a couple minutes more explaining how the SG units would be coordinating then dismissed the team to gather their gear. Raythe was about to follow Sands to the armory when Griff grabbed his shoulder.

“Raythe, you’re not required to come with. This isn’t your fight at all.”

“I disagree. I live here now, and if I intend to get home, I suspect the Goa’uld will have to be much less dominating than they are now. Besides, I want to help.” And, the fighting might even give him the opportunity to feed without being observed.

Griff gave a bit of a smile. “I’m glad to hear it. I think we’re going to need your help. Then get to the armory. You’ve been cleared for P-90 and demolitions use.”

~

Dozens of people had run off into the woods near town. SG-3 was running parallel to Griff and his team, just inside the tree line. They hoped the Marine’s unit would hold off any Jaffa that tried to enter the woodland while SG-2 found and evacuated the former slaves. Now all they had to do was track down the fleeing people and get them back to the gate before any Jaffa already in the woods found them.

No problem.

Sands waved Griff, Bell, and Raythe over to a narrow space between a boulder and a large tree. “It’s hard to see, sir, but this leads down and around this hill while every other access leads up and over.”

“You think it’s a foot path?”

Sands nodded. “It would provide excellent cover from someone taking the more obvious routes. I think it’s a hidden route in case, well, this ever happens.”

“Raythe, anything?” Griff asked. Raythe had excellent hearing and a nearly preternaturally good sense of when people were nearby. Griff suspected that he had some senses that he wasn’t telling them about.

“There are definitely people in the vicinity, but no one is close enough to tell beyond that.”

“Alright, Sands, Raythe, follow the path. Bell and I will go over the hill. Hopefully you’ll find the runaways and we’ll find the Jaffa before they find us.”

~

Sands led Raythe down the foot path. The hill rose up sharply next to them, and thick foliage grew over the crest, almost completely obscuring the path below it. It was a good escape route, Raythe had to admit. On any other day, the path would have been difficult to follow even down here, but it was clear that at least a dozen people had trampled through here within the last hour.

Raythe heard heavy footfalls above them. Jaffa were not the stealthiest of trackers. As far as he could tell, Jaffa preferred to hunt using coordinated searches and superior technology rather than individual skill.

Raythe pulled Sands by the arm until they were backed against the hill. She nodded when he indicated they should remain quiet. The foliage and their camouflage should have made them nearly invisible from above.

They heard some Jaffa phrases and more stomping above them. When the footsteps faded away, both sighed, not having realized that they were holding their breath.

“Did you understand any of that?” Raythe whispered.

Sands shook her head. “I don’t speak Jaffa. But they sounded annoyed, which is a good thing for now.”

Raythe nodded and moved back onto the path. Then Sands grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“What?”

Sands bobbed her head to where Raythe was about to step. She crouched down and pulled a few leaves off the spot. Then Raythe saw why. It was a leg hold trap, and he’d nearly stepped into it.

“Hn. Clever, for humans.”

“You know, it’s actually really rude to say things like that.”

“Why? I am complimenting them.”

Sands rolled her eyes. Raythe didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t think it was an agreement.

It took six more minutes and two more traps before the pair found heavy hanging branches hiding a holed out cave in the side of the hill. Sands pulled back the curtain, and several people recoiled back. Raythe noticed that they were especially nervous to see him. At least someone in this galaxy recognized him as being dangerous.

“Don’t worry,” Sands said. “I’m Lieutenant Kylie Sands, and this is John Raythe. We’re from the SGC – the Tau’ri. We’re here to take you back with us.”

“Really? Can you get past the Jaffa?” one woman asked.

“Yes, we have a small army out there right now. We’re going to take you back to the stargate – the chaapa’ai. Is anyone injured?”

As the group brought a young woman with a twisted ankle forward, Raythe got on the radio. “Major, we found the locals. Have you cleared out the Jaffa?”

_“Found them heading up the hill, away from the colony, but we didn’t engage. We don’t think we were spotted. Meet us back where we split up. SG-10 has the gate secured, so we can get these people out.”_

“Yes sir. Give us ten minutes.”

~

Fifteen minutes later, Sands was taking point, leading the people back to the gate. Bell walked with the civilians, helping to support the woman with the injured ankle. Raythe and Griff were in back, keeping an eye out.

And then Raythe did what Griff was hoping we wouldn’t do. He drew his eyebrows together and tilted his head to one side, something that Griff had begun to associate with the alien hearing something that he couldn’t.

Griff stopped. “Raythe?”

Then Raythe dove into Griff, pushing him sideways, just as a staff blast shot out of the trees and hit Raythe in the side. His weight suddenly went dead, and both fell over. Bell and Sands opened fire into the trees, and three Jaffa ducked back behind cover.

Griff pushed Raythe over so that he could get a look at him. His eyes were closed and his body slack. Damn it. Idiot just saved his life.

A staff blast erupted just beside Griff, and Bell shouted, “Sir, we have to get out of here!”

He stood and shot at the Anubian fool that just killed one of his team. He took several rounds to the chest and dropped. Griff chased after Bell and the rest. They turned a bend behind a large rock formation, and Sands was immediately on her commander. “Where’s Raythe?”

“He’s dead, lieutenant.” As expected, she tried to run back past. Griff threw his arms around her shoulders. “But we still have to get everyone else out of here. Come on.” He pushed her back to the lead, and they left Raythe behind.

~

 _You have to stay awake._ He could hear his Guide scolding him. It was his very first hunt, when he was only a few weeks out of his incubation pod, and he got stabbed from behind by a human trying to defend its children. He was bleeding out when his Guide found him. The older wraith must have considered just leaving him there to die for his mistake. Most commanders, most mentors for that matter, would have.

 _You have to stay awake. Feed. Heal. Get up. Get up!_ He shot up and swept the approaching Jaffa’s feet out from underneath him. He yelped in surprise. Raythe caught the Jaffa as he fell and pulled him on top of him. His side screamed in protest as the movement stretched the blast wound. It was probably going to take an entire feeding just to heal it. He rolled on top of the Jaffa before he had a chance to recover and realize that Raythe was grossly underpowered right now. Raythe shoved his hand underneath his armor and hoped that Jaffa were still just human enough.

His feeding hand tore into his skin, and Raythe felt the burn of his life shoot into my arm. Just human enough, then. The Jaffa yelled in his own language, whether in pain or for help, Raythe didn’t know. The Jaffa’s skin started to dry and wrinkle, and he panted with fatigue. The feeding was taking much longer than normal, and Raythe’s side was already healed. More life in them, he supposed.

The Jaffa that went after Major Griff came back around the bend and leveled his staff at Raythe. Entirely too late. Raythe twisted around just as he fired, and the blast shot his friend in the chest.

Raythe stood quickly and ran straight for the Jaffa. He fired at him twice more, but the staff weapons were incredibly slow and easy to see. Raythe dodged them both and tackled the Jaffa, shoving him against the rocks behind him. He tried to grab Raythe’s wrists and pull him off, but Raythe was stronger, more determined, and more alive than he had felt in months. He slammed his prey’s chest with his palm and drained him dry in moments.

He let the empty body drop. He stood upright and realized he was panting. 

_Calm. Alert. Alive._ He inhaled deeply.

Then he heard breathing that wasn’t his own. He turned and saw the Jaffa that Major Griff shot earlier trying to crawl away, dragging a trail of blood behind him. He was also pulling something from his belt. A small horn, it looked like. An alarm.

He walked over to him and stepped on the hand with the horn until he dropped it. Raythe put his foot under the Jaffa’s shoulder and flipped him onto his back. He babbled something at him. Raythe did not know the words, but he understood them perfectly. He had heard it many times before. “Please don’t. Please don’t kill me, not like that. Please.”

He knelt down and fed.

~

Griff couldn’t see Sands through the throng of people ahead of him, but he saw SG-3 flank the group as soon as they broke through the trees. “Your path is clear, Major. No Jaffa in sight, but the al’kesh is powering up. We need to leave.”

Griff looked over his shoulder. “There should be three Jaffa on our six.”

“Haven’t seen anyone yet, but we’re ready.”

Griff gripped his radio. “SG-10, dial us home.”

A few seconds later, he heard the distinct kawoosh of a stargate opening a few hundred feet ahead of them. He could hear SG-10’s soldiers shouting at his group, urging them on. They waved through Sands, Bell, and the refugees. Then Griff finally felt the cold burst of the wormhole as he ran through. He immediately stumbled over the platform in the SGC. The change in terrain tended to catch him off guard if he was distracted. But he moved out of the way quickly as SG-3 and 10 poured in behind him.

The stargate iris closed behind them, and the wormhole disengaged.

Griff breathed in deeply to steady his heart rate as he stepped off the ramp. SFs were escorting refugees into the halls to clear the room.

“SG units report to the infirmary,” General Hammond said over the PA. The gate room itself was a little crowded, so he probably couldn’t get in to welcome them home. “Major Griff, I’m counting your team one short. Where’s Raythe?”

Griff looked up at the control room and shook his head.

“SG-2, unless there are injuries that need to be addressed right away, report to the conference room.”

Griff nodded. A few minutes later, Bell and Sands joined him in the conference room with General Hammond. Bell looked dirty and worn out, but Sands had a cold anger brewing under a grim frown. Griff recognized it. He imagined he was wearing a similar expression. In truth, he never really got Raythe. The alien still made him uncomfortable sometimes, but he wasn’t ready for the kid to die. Especially not while saving his life.

“What happened?”

Griff decided to answer for it. But just as he opened his mouth, he heard the stargate rings activate and begin to spin. 

“ _Incoming traveler,_ ” Harriman announced over the PA.

The wormhole formed behind the iris. A few seconds later, Harriman himself appeared up the steps into the conference room. “It’s SG-2’s IDC, sir. It’s Raythe.”

Griff gaped. “But… he was dead. No one could have survived having half their torso blasted off.”

“No human could,” Sands said as she stood and headed for the stairs.

“Go ahead and let him in, Sergeant. Let’s find out what’s going on.”

The iris opened as Griff, Hammond, and SG-2 descended into the control room. And Raythe stepped through. His jacket had a singed hole in it, but it was definitely Raythe.

“The al’kesh entered hyperspace,” he walked down the ramp, “the Jaffa are dead,” he unclipped his P-90 and handed it to an SF, “and what happened to leaving no man behind? I’m pretty sure I read something about that.” He disappeared into a corridor. 

“Um… I should go talk to him,” Griff said.

“Yes you should,” Hammond replied.

~

Raythe eventually got man-handled into the infirmary amidst dozens of SG personnel and refugees. He got pushed onto a bed where he sat while a nurse checked him over for injuries. “I told you, I am fine.”

“Yes, how are you fine?” Griff shouted at Raythe as he and Bell pushed through SG-6. Sands had to kind of duck around everyone.

“You thought I was dead, didn’t you? That’s why you left me. Oh. Well, I can heal myself. Didn’t I ever mention that?”

“No!” all three teammates shouted at him simultaneously, startling a teenage girl in the bed next to them.

“Oh. Well, I can. It just took some time.”

“You never cease to amaze, John,” Bell said.

“Well, I am, as I once heard you say of Teal’c and something called U2, kind of awesome.”

Griff and Sands started to laugh, and Bell suddenly looked a little embarrassed. For some reason.


	8. Drinking and Driving

**January 2, 2002**

“You stupid, trusting little humans!” Raythe kicked Griff in the chest, knocking him onto his back. “It’s a wonder the Goa’uld haven’t wiped you out yet when it turns out all they had to do was knock on the door and ask for a place to stay.” Griff curled around himself when Raythe kicked him again in the ribs. “But the Goa’uld won’t have time to learn from their mistakes. Not now that we’re here. The Wraith are going to take you, all of you, and use you to exterminate the Goa’uld from this galaxy. We really should thank you. You’ve done half the work for us.” Raythe put his boot on Griff’s shoulder to flip him onto his back then viciously stepped down on his chest. Griff saw the bloodlust flash in his yellow eyes as Raythe growled at him. “But you, major, you’re work here is done.” With a roar, Raythe drew his palm back and –

A red shot burst across his chest, knocking him down.

“Are you alright, sir?” A young man in SG uniform ran from where he was hiding in the conference room’s stairwell. He pushed one of the rolling chairs aside and helped Griff to stand but was surprised to find the major grinning.

“Thanks for the hand, soldier.”

“What?”

Griff started to laugh, and Raythe’s deep rumble of a chuckle quickly followed.

“Wait, what?”

General Hammond, Sergeant Bell, and Lieutenant Sands walked in from Hammond’s office, clapping and laughing too.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” The young airman heaved a sigh of relief and grinned at himself.

Griff pushed himself away from the trainee. “Congratulations, you just saved the world from the Wraith. The terrible, terrible Raythe, who _stepped on my chest_.”

Raythe shrugged from where he was still sitting on the floor. “I was committed to my role.”

Bell gave Raythe a hand up.

“So, the whole thing was set up?” the airman asked. “The distress call to our training field, the knock-out weapon on base?”

Hammond nodded. “The whole thing.” He went on to explain that the airman and his team needed a final test with as much believability as possible.

~

**Twenty minutes earlier...**

“This feels a little racist.”

“Oh god, who taught him about racism?”

“He got cable in his room last month, sir,” Bell answered.

Sands scowled from where she was sitting on the desk. “I don’t even have cable in my room.”

“You don’t live here, Sands,” Raythe said. He spun around in Hammond’s chair a couple of times. He stopped the chair with his foot against the desk and picked up the ‘Wraith knock-out device’ next to Hammond’s phones. It was basically a plastic gold ball with some LED lights in it. “Not that I’m necessarily complaining about being portrayed as the invading alien commander, but it just seems a little obvious. What with me being an alien.”

“Well, you are a bit intimidating when you loom over people,” Bell said. “Plus, I think everyone else is still a bit hungover from New Year’s, so you’re up to play the part.”

“A hangover - ,” Sands started.

“No, wait, I know this. A hangover is the aftereffects of ingesting too much alcohol. Which makes sense, since it’s poisonous. You all realize alcohol is poisonous, right?”

“But so much fun. I’ll see if I can work something out here on base so we can - ,” Bell stopped when he realized Griff was glaring at him. “…bond. You know, as a team. Beer’s great for bonding.”

The phone rang, and Raythe picked up the receiver. “Yes? Alright, we’ll be ready.” He hung up and said to the group, “They just made it to the exterior access.”

“Alright, places everyone,” Griff said. “Bell, go evade capture or whatever you’re supposed to do. Sands and I’ll be hunting you down near the armory in a few minutes.”

“Why are you guys on his side again?”

“We’ve been threatened that the base will be blown up or something.”

“Right.” Bell left through the conference room.

“So Raythe, if they manage to make it to a computer with video feed, you have to be ready to have a human revolt on your hands.” Griff pointed at himself.

“I’ll be ready.” Raythe grinned wickedly.

“You are way too excited about pretending to beat me up.”

“Oh, we’re supposed to be pretending?”

“Raythe!”

“Yes sir, I’ll be careful.”

“I hear Colonel O’Neill loved beating up Dr. Jackson last time SG-1 did this,” Sands said.

Griff chuckled. “I can imagine. And that’s why they’re writing up a new simulation for SG-1’s next run in March.”

Sands asked, “Did you do simulations like this when you were training, Raythe?”

“War games, more like. But yes, we practiced scenarios. None where the rouse was so elaborate, though. I have to say, I’m rather enjoying myself.”

“Great, now Raythe is going to move to L.A. to become an actor,” Griff teased.

“He’d make a good orc in those new Lord of the Rings movies.”

Griff nodded in agreement.

“I don’t know what any of that means, but I think you are making fun of me again. Possibly with more racism.”

Griff chuckled and pushed Sands’ shoulder to get her off the desk. “Alright, let’s start the manhunt.”

~

**Twenty-two minutes later...**

Griff socked Raythe in the shoulder. “I can’t believe you stepped on me.”

“I did warn you.”

Bell leaned over to Raythe. “OK, so it’s a no-go for beer on base. Hammond was pretty firm on that. But I got a different idea.”

~

**January 19, 2002**

Griff rolled his shoulders as he walked down the hall to the mess. It was quiet, and he had only seen a couple S.F.s so far. Apparently, even the SGC needed a weekend occasionally.

He spotted Harriman walking in the opposite direction. The sergeant’s head was down, looking over a file in his hands.

“Harriman!”

“Huh?” Harriman looked up, apparently surprised that there was anyone else around.

“You seen Raythe? I was going to invite him to lunch, but he’s not in his room.”

“Oh, um, he went off-world.”

“What? Raythe leaves the base? Ever?”

Harriman tried to suppress his smile. “Yes, sir. He gets a weekend sometimes too.”

Griff shrugged at the technician and decided to check on Raythe’s whereabouts before lunch. He made his way to the control room and waved at the technician at the controls. It wasn’t someone he recognized. Actually, he really only recognized Harriman.

“Good morning… airman.”

“Major. Don’t you have the weekend off, sir?”

“Paperwork,” Griff answered simply. The technician nodded. It was the bane of everyone on the base. Most bases, really.

“I’m wondering where John Raythe went.”

The technician pulled out a drawer and the front-most file. He looked it over, then said, “He and Sergeant Bell went to the alpha site. They’ll be spending the whole weekend there and N2R-444.”

“N2R-444 rings a bell.”

“It’s a bunch of renaissance-style villages. It’s pretty popular on base for its vineyards and breweries and, uh, limited scruples.”

“Ah, the frat party planet. Right.”

“Well, I think that’s probably a bit of an exaggeration --.”

“That explains Bell and that planet, but what could they possibly be doing at the alpha site?”

~

“Yaaaaay-haaaaaa!” Raythe turned the steering wheel sharply, jarring the Jeep around the dune. “This is way better than flying!”

“Shift up, shift up! They’re gaining on us!” Bell looked over his shoulder at the Jeep just feet behind them. He clung tightly to the handle beside his seat. Raythe was a madman behind the wheel, and there weren’t any doors in this model to keep him from being thrown out.

Raythe shifted gears, and the Jeep sped up, darting through the plains. Dirt kicked up around the tires, shooting tiny rocks into Bell’s knuckles. He really didn’t care. This was a blast!

The opposing Jeep gained on the bumper and tried to pass on Raythe’s side. Raythe, instead of moving right to avoid getting tapped, sharply cut the Jeep off. Bell nearly toppled out. “Hey, are you nuts?!” The other Jeep let off the gas to avoid a collision.

And suddenly they were through two flag posts where three other people clapped and yelled at them. They had passed the finish line.

The duo jumped out of their Jeep as soon as Raythe pulled over to meet the man approaching from the other car. Bell’s legs were a little shaky. 

“So how’s that for a driving lesson?” Davies asked. Bell didn’t really know First Lieutenant Davies personally. He was more or less a permanent fixture at the alpha site and not part of an exploration team. It was Major Carter that recommended he teach Raythe to drive. Apparently, he gave lessons (and unofficial races) to a lot of the aliens that found their way to the SGC. 

“Way better than the ones I got from my parents,” Bell replied.

“If I ever get to fly again, I’m turning down the inertial dampeners on my ship,” Raythe said. “That was fantastic.”

“Good thing you’re a quick learner. I normally can’t race with someone as new as you.”

Raythe looked Davies over critically. “Did you go easy on me?”

Davies smiled a little guiltily. “Only a little at first. Which was clearly a mistake! You’re a lunatic driver, and I pray you’re never allowed to drive on public roads. Or anywhere there’s people. At all.”

Raythe grinned smugly. Bell wanted to hit him a bit.

“Up for another go?” Davies asked.

Bell shook his head. “Sorry, we’re meeting Dixon and Pierce on 444 pretty soon.”

Davies grinned. “Voca?”

“You know it?”

“You could say that. It’s a popular stop after here. Have fun.”

~

They arrived on Voca just as the sun was setting. The village that surrounded the stargate was mostly lovely cottages and two-story businesses. Many of them were painted in various shades of green, and most had vine and grape motifs around the door and window frames. Instead of signs, the buildings were labeled with simple images of the building’s function expertly painted onto the walls. There was a church dedicated to the worship of the Asgard Eostre in the center of town, just a few hundred feet from the stargate platform.

There were a handful of people milling around, and they all waved politely at Bell and Raythe. Bell saw a few confused or surprised looks shot in Raythe’s direction, but no one commented or looked frightened. One young boy on his way home tore away from his parents and ran to Bell. He tugged at the Sergeant’s pockets, shouting, “Cocoa, cocoa!”

“Right, right, I remembered the chocolate tax this time.” Bell pulled a couple fun-sized Kit Kats from his vest pocket and handed them to the boy. 

“Thank you,” the boy mumbled, suddenly a lot more shy once he got what he wanted. He ran back to his parents.

Bell shouted after him, “Hey, one of those is for your brother!”

The boy nodded, and his mother said, “Thank you, Midgar.” The locals had a tendency to call the SGC personnel by their home planet rather than their names or titles.

Bell led Raythe to a nearby building with people seated at a couple tables outside. The walls were painted with barrels and bottles. On second glance, Bell realized one of the barrels was real and acted as water collection from the roof gutter at the corner.

Inside was loud, crowded, and well-lit. The bar took up an entire wall, but it looked like it was also open to the kitchen behind it. Waiters and patrons alike milled around, chatting and playing table games. Bell saw several hands of poker at different tables as well some sort of throwing game like dice. There was a large balcony that hung over a third of the room, and there were more people up there. A Vocan was seated at the wall opposite them playing what looked like a long, spiraled flute. He was accompanied by Major Dave Dixon on a guitar. Raythe tapped Bell on the shoulder and pointed over the crowd of tables and people to Colonel Ben Pierce, who was already waving at them.

By the time Bell and Raythe made it to the table, Dixon had already caught up with them. Bell introduced Raythe to the officers. “Ben and I actually were both in SG-2 for like a minute before he decided he was too good for us and took up command of SG-15.”

Pierce shrugged. “Well, it was actually meant to be Dave here, but he went off and started dropping kids.”

Raythe frowned. “I’m going to assume that’s a euphemism for rapidly reproducing, and that you didn’t actually drop any children. Thank you.” That last phrase was directed to a pretty waitress that handed him a glass mug of home-brewed beer.

Dixon laughed into the half-empty mug of beer that he had brought over with him. “You would be correct. Though sometimes I’m tempted.”

Raythe decided to jump right into this bonding ritual and tasted his drink. It wasn’t bad. A little bitter but definitely more flavorful than the drinks he usually got on base. He drank some more. And when he started tipping the glass back to speed this process up, Bell grabbed the bottom and pushed it down. “OK, you’re going to slow down a bit now.”

“Why? I seriously doubt anything humans can tolerate will have any effect on me. What could happen?”

~

**Forty one minutes later…**

“No, I swear, I’m really good at this game,” Raythe complained as his dart missed so wide as to not actually be on the board at all. The dart board was actually a carving in the wood wall under the balcony. Some SGC regulars had gotten permission to put it there months ago, and it was very popular with Vocans and Midgardians alike.

Bell, Dixon, and Pierce found this to be uproariously funny. Especially Bell. Raythe glared at him, but his yellow cat eyes were proving to be much less intimidating tonight than normal. Probably because Bell was drunk and didn’t notice the glaring. It certainly wasn’t because Raythe was drunk and actually glaring about six inches to Bell’s right.

“Hey, here’s another.” A human woman pushed a fresh glass into Raythe’s hands. This one was a darker color and smelled strongly of what she called forra root. Now that Raythe thought about it, she had given him his last one, too, and he was pretty sure she wasn’t even a waitress. “I’ve always wondered about what’s on the other side of the Ring, you know. I’d love to hear some stories about Midgar.”

Raythe nodded. Stories were nice. “Yes, Colonel Dixon over there has been with exploration teams the longest. I’m sure he has some exciting stories.”

Raythe saw Bell smack himself in the face for some reason, and the sergeant was laughing again. “I play Major Griff all the time, and I always win,” Raythe objected to Bell’s chuckles.

“Then I’ll be sure to let him know about this. He’ll be very relieved,” Bell said.

“My arms feel heavy.”

“That means you need another beer,” Dixon said. Bell nodded in confirmation. 

Well, that made sense.

~

**Four hours later…**

“I miss the stars.” Raythe was stretched out on one of the low couches scattered around the rooftop patio of the bar. He looked up at the night sky. Like this, it felt like he was floating among the stars, and he wondered briefly if his hive would find him floating out there one day. 

“Yer looking at ‘em right now,” Bell said from somewhere above Raythe’s head. Or behind his head. Over there.

“Yeah, but I don’t get to go outside while on base. It’s… stuffy. There are no windows. I miss the stars.” It was chilly out here, but he liked the cool breeze on his skin. It was much more pleasant than the constantly recycled air in Cheyenne Mountain. 

“Oh, no, you’re a wishtful drunk. Ah’m pretty sure that’s the worsht kind.”

“’M not drunk.” Raythe rolled off the couch and stumbled to standing. “Or wistful. I’m homesick. There’s a difference.”

“Yeah, OK. We should get you home, then.”

~

Harriman, who was back on shift, tapped idly at his keyboard. Weekends were boring. So far, two whole days had passed without someone almost dying. It was unprecedented. 

Finally, the stargate fired up on its own, and the alarm sounded, announcing an unscheduled off-world activation. Which wasn’t surprising. Harriman was expecting several off-world weekenders to arrive tonight and tomorrow.

Griff came up behind him. “What’s going on?”

“I’m getting an IDC now. It’s… not one of ours.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s wrong.” Harriman pointed to the screen, and Griff leaned over his shoulder. The display showed the IDC as a close but not an exact match to any of theirs. “Wait, another one’s coming through. It’s… also wrong.”

Griff started to suspect what was happening.

“OK,” Harriman said, “here’s a correct one. It’s Sergeant Bell.”

“Figures.”

Harriman opened the iris, and two rather ungraceful figures stumbled through. Raythe was laughing at Bell and pointing at the sergeant’s wrist, where his GDO was strapped on. “You can’t type.” 

Bell was leaning rather heavily on Raythe, but he pushed off him when they got off the ramp. “I c’n type, I just can’t remember thingy numbers.”

By this time, Griff had made it down to the gateroom. “Did the two of you have fun?”

Bell looked up, apparently startled to see his commanding officer. “I taught him drinking and driving,” Bell promptly reported. Raythe nodded in confirmation.

Griff raised an eyebrow.

“No, wait. That’s bad. Not drinking and driving. There was drinking, and there was driving. Wait, no, not that. It was backwards. Backwards that.”

“Sergeant?” Griff cut Bell off before he could keep rambling.

“Yeah sir.”

“Why don’t the two of you go to bed now?”

“Good idea, shir,” Bell nodded, apparently unaware of his slight lisp. He tried (and failed) to snap at Griff but just ended up staring at his hands in confusion.

Griff rolled his eyes as Raythe led them out.

~

**The next morning…**

“Oh god, what?” Bell woke abruptly to a bouncing that could only be someone repeatedly shoving his shoulder.

“I am told that you will appreciate these.”

Bell opened his eyes just as Raythe planted the base of a cool cup of water on his forehead. He was also holding one of those single-dose packets of ibuprofen that the infirmary carried. Bell sat up and took the glass and packet. “Thanks.”

He looked around. They weren’t in a bunkroom. There was an unmade bed against one wall and a short stack of paperback books on the nightstand next to it. There was a small desk against another wall, opposite the door. Bell was seated on a sofa. There was a coffee table at his feet with one of those small TVs on it. “John, is this your room?”

Raythe just nodded, and Bell realized that the alien wasn’t tired or sick-looking at all. “And more importantly, why aren’t you hung-over?”

Raythe chuckled and waved the question off. “Please.”

“God, I hate you so much sometimes.”

Raythe chuckled again. Bell groaned, drank some of the water, and stood up. “Ugh. Let me use the bathroom, then we’ll get breakfast. I don’t want to take these,” he waved the packet around vaguely, “on an empty stomach. And stop smirking!”

He didn’t.


	9. Your Interest

**January 22, 2002**

Sands punched Bell in the shoulder. “Ow! What was that for?” He stopped typing up last week’s report at Griff’s desk to rub his arm.

“You went to Voca without me.”

“What? So? I took John drinking with a bunch of guys. I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“I might have been.”

“You don’t drink.”

“I do sometimes. And mostly I just wanted to see what John was like drunk.”

Bell smiled a little at that. “Uncoordinated, actually. It was pretty funny. Oh, and get this,” he lowered his voice as if there were anyone else in the room to overhear. Technically, Griff shared the office with Colonel O’Neill, but O’Neill never used it. They were actually pretty convinced he didn’t even know it was there. “He was getting hit on by this alien-obsessed woman all night, and he didn’t even notice. At all. She was hot, too, but she didn’t have the slightest interest in us.”

Sands grinned this time and sat down on the desk.

“Wait, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean that she wasn’t into us because she was hot, I meant –.”

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s what I heard.”

“No! I meant that she was interested in alien strange, not her own species.”

Sands rolled her eyes. “You know, it is possible she wasn’t trying to sleep with him. And if she was, it’s not unusual to be attracted to something different. Though, I’ll admit it’s weird if you’re not even sure they, you know, work like us.”

Bell abruptly looked back to the laptop. “I’m pretty sure he does.”

Sands looked down sharply to Bell. “Whyyyy?”

Bell held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not saying I know, I’m just guessing. ‘Cause John doesn’t exactly have a concept of modesty or privacy in the locker room.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Well, except for the skin and the teeth and the eyes and the wield holes around his nose and the ridges down his back, he, well, looks pretty much like us. In the, you know, important areas.”

Bell looked pretty uncomfortable by then, so Sands mercifully didn’t continue her line of questioning. “Raythe has ridges down his back?”

“Yeah, like that pointy part of the spine, but a lot bigger.”

“The spinous process?”

“Sure.”

“Hm. Well, I guess it’s not surprising John isn’t used to privacy. He did grow up on a crowded spaceship. Imagine being raised on base, where the locker rooms have the only showers ever.”

“Oh, god, that’d be horrible.”

“Anyway, punching you actually isn’t the reason I’m here.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“We’ve been invited back to P4X-292 next week.”

“Uh…?”

“Lanella. The planet with the former slaves that we saved from Anubis a couple months ago.”

“Right.”

“They’re throwing us a thank you feast now that they’ve finished rebuilding. Apparently it’s an all-night kind of a thing.”

“…Sometimes my job is awesome.”

Sands nodded. “Anyway, tomorrow we’re escorting a science team to check out those mineral deposits SG-4 found a few days ago.”

Bell made a face. “And sometimes it is less awesome.”

~

**Later that day…**

“It’s a wonder your species gets anything done.” Raythe sat down across from Sands in the mess hall.

“Oh? Why?”

“You’re preoccupied with reproducing.”

Sands kind of nodded in agreement without looking up from her plate. Lemon chicken on egg noodles and pesto sauce. It was actually quite good. “Well, with sex anyway. But what brought this on?”

“People having sex in the closet.”

“On TV?”

“No, in the closet. I just said that.”

Sands opened her mouth to clarify that she meant in a closet on TV, but then she saw Raythe’s little smile. He was teasing her. “Oh very funny, smart-ass.”

“I found them when I went to get my uniforms out of the laundry room. But now that you mention it, reproducing is also the subject of most TV shows. Why is that?”

“You shouldn’t read too much into TV. It shows a rather skewed version of reality, especially about sex.” Sands then remembered what Bell said about their boys’ weekend. About the woman that Raythe didn’t even notice. It was possible that Raythe needed some education that most humans got during puberty. “I’ll explain it to you if you like, but not here. I think we’re going to have a rather involved conversation, and most people prefer that sex is talked about more privately.”

Raythe shrugged and ate his peach cobbler.

~

“You know, I thought not having kids got me out of doing ‘The Talk’, but apparently not.” Sands sat down at Raythe’s desk while he took the couch.

Raythe raised an eyebrow at her in question.

“Uh, never mind. So, sex. Yeah. First, do you know how humans reproduce?”

“I understand the basic physiology behind it, and I’ve seen a few humans in my galaxy have sex, yes.”

“That’s… a little weird. Most people find sex to be a very intimate and personal activity, so it’s not usually done with an audience.”

Raythe shrugged. “I can’t help what I walk in on. For example, the closet.”

“No, I guess not. But I should clear something up. People have sex for a lot of reasons, and deliberate reproduction is just one of them. It’s also an expression of closeness and trust.”

“Oh, like among team members?” That made sense to Raythe.

“No. Not like that. Even if that weren’t against regulation, sex is for more personal reasons. It’s usually done with someone you want as a, um, a life partner. Sorry, I’m having some trouble explaining this without context from your species. Do wraith form couples?”

Raythe blinked once before he had a visible ‘ah-ha’ moment. “Oh, you mean do we pair-bond, like many mammalian species?”

“Yes!”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, humans do, and sex is a part of the pair-bonding ritual. For some, these couples are just temporary, but the more permanent end of the spectrum is called marriage. Marriage usually does include reproduction.”

“So the couple in the closet are undergoing a pair-bonding ritual?”

“Maybe, maybe not. While expressions of intimacy are a big part of sex, the biggest drive behind sex is that it feels good. Our bodies want to have it even when we may be thinking about other things.”

“I suppose that makes sense. Your species likely developed this as a motivator to propagate your species even when logical problems like overpopulation tell you that you shouldn’t reproduce.”

“Right. But since sex does feel good, some people have it a little more casually. Meaning they have sex purely for the physical pleasure and don’t intend to couple with the person or reproduce.”

“You sound like you don’t approve.”

“Sorry, I’m trying to relay facts without bias, but I’m not very good at it. Sex, for most, is a very intense pleasure. It leaves you very vulnerable, emotionally and physically. I find the idea of being like that with someone that I didn’t completely love and trust a little distasteful. But I guess some people are able to separate the emotional from the physical. I cannot. Most people cannot. Some take my kind of view to the extreme where they only have sex with the person they have already married.”

Raythe thought for a moment and scratched at the side of his neck. “This seems very complicated. Doesn’t having one act with so many purposes – physical pleasure, expressions of adoration, and reproduction – make things very confusing? Especially for a species so limited in communication as yours?”

Sands let the jab at the limitations of her species pass. She was used to it by then. “Yes, it is complicated, and it leads to many, many miscommunications. And that’s why it’s the subject of so many TV shows.”

“Hm.”

Sands waited a bit for him to process the information. “Can I ask you what might be a rather personal question?”

“How does this compare to Wraith practices?”

“Yeah.”

Raythe pulled back his lips and tapped his teeth as he thought. “Our reproductive habits are different, obviously. Part of a colony’s duty is to provide semen for the queen. When she is ready, she takes it from storage and uses it to fertilize the incubation pods she’s created.”

“That sounds… a bit dispassionate.”

“The process is not unpleasant, but it’s hardly intimate, since you’re typically alone, and I wouldn’t call it ‘intense’.”

“It sounds like your reproduction is dependent upon your technology.”

“For the numbers we want, it is, but it doesn’t have to be. In the past, when we were planet-dwellers, the queens were inseminated more directly.”

“Like bees!”

Raythe seemed a bit caught off guard. “What?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. But lots of Earth insect reproduce like how you’re describing. The females – called queens, actually – are inseminated and spend most of their day giving birth.”

“That is actually fairly accurate. But I imagine less than pleasant for the queen.”

“Yeah, probably not so much.”

“So, this technology-based method was created. And that’s actually just how natural-born wraith are made. Warriors take a few more steps, but I would rather not go into that. The process is a bit of a secret.”

“I understand. Still, it seems a pity the whole thing is so, for lack of a better word, sterile. It seems like your missing out.”

Raythe pursed his thin lips together and almost smiled.

“What?”

“Hmm…”

“John Raythe, are you being coy?”

“I seem to be, yes.”

“Fine, keep your secrets. I’ll admit I’m curious, but I won’t push you if you don’t want to share. Even if that would be completely unfair given everything I told you.”

Raythe grinned and relented. A guilt-trip was not something he was used to. “We do have ways of expressing intimacy. But they have nothing to do with reproduction. And, unlike here, teammates and mentors are common partners for this.”

“You’re not going to tell me what it is, are you?”

“No.”

“Tease.” Then Sands noticed the sadness that had settled over Raythe. “John, do you have people you left? Teammates and mentors back home that you miss? I had never given it much thought before.”

“A few. It is a very personal gift. I have had only a few I ever trusted with it. One of them, my Guide, died not long before my accident.”

“I’m sorry. Your guide was your… mentor, right?”

Raythe nodded. “Not my commander. He commanded another ship, but he occasionally trained subcommanders in the fleet. We was… very wise. Old, too. He didn’t like to go into the stasis chambers, so he was older than any other wraith I knew, save the queens. Clever, even-tempered, and very patient. His political opponents found him very disconcerting.”

“He sounds like a good man.”

Raythe smirked to himself. “No, not really.”

~

**January 28, 2002**

Lanella was a fairly large village with nearly a thousand former slaves (and even a few rebel Jaffa) as its residents. The buildings were mostly one-room cabins, and many of the families were still in tents or heavily curtained canopies. Still, they had several functioning farms and, Griff knew, two hidden caches of SGC-issued weapons.

Griff led the twelve SGC members through the field from the stargate to town. It was already dusk, and Griff could see several bonfires going. Once the group made it to the center of the buildings, some of which were still under reconstruction, he also found long wooden tables and benches already set up with cooked pigs and local vegetables. 

Many of the locals greeted individual SGC team members warmly and with apparent familiarity. Griff noticed that Sands in particular was getting a series of hugs from at least three people, one of which Griff recognized as the young woman that injured her ankle while running from Anubian Jaffa. Griff didn’t recognize anyone here personally, but he still generally liked the Lanellans. They never objected to him or his teams going everywhere heavily armed.

~

The festivities had been going on for several hours now. It was dark out, darker than he had seen it in some time. Raythe had spent most of his time looking up at the stars, though he decided to stay away from the, what was it called, moonshine that was making its way around the tables.

At first the noise from the musical instruments and the loud groups of people had just confused him. Then Sands pulled him into one of the dance circles around fire pits. It was, well, not the most flattering of experiences. But it had been pleasant. People were not speaking so much in the dance circles, so he did not get confused as he often did when the humans’ words conflicted with their bodies and the feel of their minds. It had actually been a little relaxing.

Still, he had found this spot at the edge of the celebration that he preferred. The air was cooler and clearer. If he scanned the mess of people, he could spot each of his teammates with relative ease. Sands was still dancing. Bell had caught the eye of one of the women, and the two were chatting at the end of one of the tables. Griff was with one of the town leaders, laughing and smoking what Raythe recognized from TV as a cigar.

Raythe caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned a bit to look over the field that stretched from the village edge to the forest nearby. It was just a man, stumbling in the direction of the trees. Raythe could see the man’s face, but he didn’t recognize it right away. In truth, he had difficulty telling people apart by their facial characteristics. He was more used to distinguishing individuals by the feel of their minds. But he did recognize the shuffle of someone that was heavily intoxicated. He was pretty sure this was the same drunk that Sands (and a couple other women) had shoved away from her earlier that night.

Seeing where the man was headed brought a little anxiety to Raythe’s chest. The three Jaffa bodies that he had left drained in the woods several weeks ago were still there. He had taken the time to bury the bodies, but they were not very deep underground. They still ran the risk of being found.

Raythe was so preoccupied that he didn’t even notice the woman approach him until she sat on the bench next to him and said, “Good evening, Tauri.”

“Hm? What?” Raythe jerked back to attention. The woman was sitting very close to him, and he could suddenly feel the warmth of her hip against his. “Yes?”

“I’m Myla. I doubt you recognize me, but I was one of the people you rescued from our hideout in the woods.”

“No, I don’t recognize you.”

This didn’t seem to put her off. “What’s your name?”

“John Raythe. And I’m not Tauri.”

“No, I suppose you’re not. I’ve never seen anyone like you before.” 

It wasn’t a question, so Raythe didn’t bother responding. He looked over his shoulder again. The man had stumbled into the woods, and Raythe was sure that the humans, with their rather pitiful night vision, could not see him at all anymore.

“I suppose that if you work with the Tauri, though, you must be used to the heroics that they seem fond of. Does it usually bring you a lot of attention from those you save?”

Raythe abruptly felt her hand on his thigh, and he flinched away. Why was she touching him? “What are you bothering me about, human? Go away!”

Myla flinched at his tone and snapped her hand back. Huffing, she stood up sharply and stalked back to the circle of people around the fire.

Raythe snorted. What had that been about? Then he remembered the woman on Voca that had kept touching his arm when she passed him drinks. Oh, that’s what that had been about. Well, he couldn’t deal with that right now. He was busy.

As usual, Raythe thought of his Guide and the lessons he had given him, many years ago. _Do not be so rigid in your thoughts. Be observant. Take your advantages where you can get them._

Technically, Raythe did not _need_ to feed right now. The encounter with those three Jaffa had been less than two months ago, and they each were enough to sustain him for that long. But no one was looking – at the intoxicated man or Raythe. It would be wasteful to pass up this opportunity.

Raythe scanned the group of humans one more time to make sure no one was watching and then silently slipped out of the firelight.

It took several moments for him to locate the lost human. It wasn’t difficult to track him, but Raythe took his time to avoid making any sound on the fallen twigs. The ground was thick with pine needles, and they helped cushion the sound of his foot-falls.

Raythe stopped when he found the man about 20 feet ahead of him, urinating on a rock. Raythe waited for him to finish. The man started to shuffle around a bit, apparently trying to remember how to get back to the village. Raythe decided to help him make his decision. He mentally reached out to the human’s mind until he could feel the man’s blurry disorientation. The link wasn’t strong enough for the confusion to pass to Raythe, though. Humans really had such simple minds, a proper link with one was nearly impossible. In this case, though, that was a good thing.

Raythe pushed against the man’s thoughts, and he jerked around in response.

“Heya, wazz there?” the man said. To him, the brush of Raythe’s mind looked like a dark blur moving rapidly in his peripheral vision. A specter sneaking up on him. A wraith.

Raythe felt the deep, soft sound of the man’s heart rate picking up in his sensory pits near his nose. His own heart picked up speed in response. It had been a while since he had hunted like this, and he had forgotten how exciting it was. Raythe pushed again on the man’s mind, harder, and the man yelled at the apparition and bolted further into the woods. Raythe gave chase.

The man fled in terror as the specters chased him from both sides. Raythe could hear ahead of them, and used the illusions to steer him towards the river. Panting hard, the man came to a sudden halt when the ground dropped off just before him. He grabbed onto a tree branch to avoid falling down the short cliff and into the rapid river below. 

The man looked back around. There were no more shadows moving in the dark. Maybe he had simply had too much to drink and got scared by the natural movements in the woods. He exhaled deeply. He turned around to go back.

Instead, he found bared teeth and yellow eyes fill his vision. With a deep growl, Raythe clamped his hands around the man’s head and mouth to stifle his yells and pulled him to the ground.

~

His heart was still racing from the thrill of hunting again. Even the time it took to cut open the desiccated body and pack it with rocks to sink it in the river only served to add to the excitement rather than detract from it.

It wasn’t uncommon for his wraith brothers to start playful fights after an exhilarating hunt and even perform joinings with those closest to each other, but Raythe figured neither activity would be well received here. Thankfully, if the humans’ behavior over the past few months (and especially over the past few hours) was anything to go by, then there was a socially acceptable way for him to burn off this jittery excitement.

He found Myla leaning against a wall, slightly separated from a group of other women. He approached her cautiously and made sure that she could hear him coming. She turned at the sound of his boots on the pebbles that made their main road and rolled her eyes when she saw him. 

“I came to apologize for my behavior earlier.”

“Good, you should. If you weren’t interested, you simply needed to say so.”

“Unfortunately, I find humans to be rather confusing and didn’t recognize... your interest. My kind shows affection quite differently than yours, less physically. But I am sorry for being rude.”

Myla pursed her lips and didn’t look over at him, but her eyes softened a little. “I suppose I can understand that. Understanding different cultures alone can be difficult. I can’t imagine trying to be polite among a completely different species.” She finally looked at him. “Your apology is accepted.”

“Thank you. And… in truth, I would not have known what to do with your interest.” That wasn’t completely true. Raythe at least understood the basics mechanics involved. But that wasn’t really relevant. He stepped closer to her, closer than would be comfortable with another wraith. “Even if… even though I may return it.”

Myla looked him over, and Raythe felt as him she was trying to form a mental link with him. Which would be ridiculous for a human.

But then she gave him a soft smile. “Would you like me to show you?”

Raythe smiled back and nodded. “Very much.”

~

Griff noticed Bell’s eyes widen even from several seats away. Bell caught his eye and nodded at an angle, indicating the area behind Griff. Griff turned and just saw a woman leading Raythe by the hand through the tents where many of the locals still lived. The pair slipped behind one of the heavy curtains.

Griff’s own eyes widened, and he snorted in an attempt to avoid laughing. He looked back at Bell. “Seriously?” The sergeant was also chuckling, and he shrugged at his officer.

Then Sands dropped into a seat next to Bell, just two seats away and across from Griff. She looked finally worn out from all the dancing. “Hey guys. How you been? Seen John?”

“No,” Griff and Bell said simultaneously. Best to just let this one slide.


	10. Off Base, Part 1

**April 28, 2002**

“You nervous, John?” Sands asked from her spot in the front seat. ‘Shotgun’ it was called. But it was apparently inappropriate to keep a shotgun under that seat while in the nation’s capitol city. Bell, however, claimed that it was very appropriate when in Detroit, the city his parents emigrated to from South Korea just a few years before he was born. Sands and Bell had to show Raythe a world map in order for him to understand any of their explanation.

“No, I am not intimidated by a bunch of bureaucrats trying to make themselves feel important.” Just a few days prior, the SGC has almost been destroyed when replicators had infiltrated the base. Their source was a robotic girl named Reese, who SG-1 had brought onto base. General Hammond had offered her refuge, and everyone had nearly died as a result. The Department of Defense had decided that they needed a better handle on any non-terrestrial personnel at the SGC and needed in-person interviews. 

Griff snorted at Raythe’s assessment of their oversight committee. He was in the driver’s seat, scanning the wide, multi-laned highway before he merged into the lane on his right.

“Stop pulling on your tie,” Bell said from his seat next to Raythe. He leaned over the center seat to fix the tie. Raythe was dressed in a black suit that Sands had to buy for him. It fit reasonably well, but the black fabric made his normally pale gray hair seem all the more white and alien. As if his skin didn’t do that already.

“It’s a noose. It’s an actual noose that you wear around your neck.” He tugged the tie knot back down. “I feel ridiculous in this outfit.”

“Well, you look ridiculous,” Bell said.

“Jeff, you’re not helping,” Sands said. “John, you look very nice.”

Now Raythe snorted.

“Children,” Griff called back to them, “settle down. We’re almost there.”

Raythe scowled further. “He knows I’m older than him, right?” he asked to no one in particular.

“Are you?” Sands asked.

“Yes. A lot older.”

“How old are you?”

There was a pause, and Raythe fidgeted with his seatbelt. “I’m not sure about the conversion to Earth years, but the difference in our age makes the lot of you seem infantile and puny.”

“Jesus, what’s got your panties in a twist?” Griff grumbled.

Sands answered rather than let the conversation devolve further. “He’s frustrated because it’s his first time off base, but he’s not allowed to see anything.”

“I’m being moved from an underground, windowless compound to another windowless compound.”

“At least you get to see some stuff now,” Sands offered weakly. Griff wasn’t honestly any more impressed with that than Raythe was.

“From the back seat through tinted windows. I came to the SGC for refuge, but I’m basically a prisoner there.”

“John, I know it’s frustrating, but most of the people on this planet don’t know aliens actually exist. Your presence in public could really upset a lot of people. You know the stargate has to be kept secret.”

“No I don’t. You’re the only culture I know that keeps it secret, and your government’s inability to be honest with the people it governs is hardly my problem.”

“OK, that’s enough,” Griff decided to put a stop to this whole rant. “Taking issue with being confined to the mountain is one thing, but your protests against the secrecy of the stargate program are not something you want to bring up during this interview. That will not work out well for you. Got it?” Raythe remained sullenly quiet in the back seat. “Raythe?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Now let’s get this over with.”

In truth, Raythe was indeed frustrated with Earth politics and his confinement to the mountain. But it wasn’t all that was bothering him. He needed to feed again. Those three Jaffa had sustained him for longer than expected, but the drunk from Lanella had been three months ago.

That hunt left Raythe with mixed feelings. While the hunt itself had been wonderfully liberating and the night afterwards just as enjoyable, the following morning ended up being far less exhilarating. While Raythe had been sleeping in with Myla, Sands and a handful of others had found the man’s trail and, eventually, the trampled hill where Raythe had rolled his dried body down to the river. The sunken body had not been found, and Sands, thankfully, concluded that he likely fell into the river while intoxicated. This meant that no blame or even suspicion was directed towards Raythe, but the whole experience left him feeling distinctly uncomfortable. He had never had to witness any aftermath of his feedings. Raythe blamed the knot in his gut on anxiety over possibly being caught and, now, the encroaching hunger.

Up in the front seat, Griff was happy for the quiet. Maneuvering through the busy streets wasn’t exactly fun and required more concentration than the chatty team normally allowed him. He signaled and drove the sedan down an off-ramp. This street was much less busy. Griff wasn’t surprised. The highway had been busy with commuters going home, but most everyone around here was already gone. Raythe was deliberately being brought on a day when traffic around the Pentagon would be minimal to decrease the chances of him being spotted.

Griff stopped at a red light at a T-intersection. There were no other cars at the stop, but he glimpsed a set of headlights in the rearview mirror.

Sands, ever the peacekeeper, broke the silence. “Do you want to go over practice questions again?”

“No, I think I’m alright. ‘Don’t lose my temper, don’t be defensive.’ I got it.”

The light turned green, and Griff pulled forward. “I’m sure you’ll be fi–“

The whole car jarred to the right as a heavy SUV slammed into the front of the car. For a split second, Griff saw the hood of the car cave in before the airbag exploded into his face, knocking him out.


	11. Off Base, Part 2

_April 28, 2002_

Bell came to fairly quickly. The first thing he noticed was the hissing of the ruptured radiator under the bent hood. He blinked, and he fuzzily saw the back of Griff’s seat. Griff wasn’t moving. Neither was Sands. It looked like both had been knocked out by their airbags. He looked over to Raythe.

He wasn’t there. The car door was open. Bell blinked a few more times, and his vision came into focus. Raythe was outside. Four men in plain clothes were trying to drag him by the arms to a black van that had stopped right behind them. 

Raythe wasn’t making it easy. He was not only conscious but fighting tooth and nail. Rather literally. He lunged at one of the men holding his right arm and sank his sharp teeth into his forearm. The man yelled and let go. Raythe took the chance to shake the second on his right off of him, but a third man bashed Raythe over the head with the butt of a pistol. Not that that did much to slow him down.

“Careful!” the fourth man shouted. “We don’t want it damaged.”

 _Oh hell,_ Bell thought. _They’re trying to kidnap John._

He needed a gun. Guy Three had a gun. Bell wanted that gun. 

He opened his car door and stumbled out. No one seemed to notice. He couldn’t go around front because the SUV’s grill was still a foot into the tire well. Instead, he ran around the back of the car, grabbed Guy Two by the shoulder and kicked out his knee. That guy yelled and crumpled to the ground. That drew everyone’s attention. Guy Four raised a zat gun, but Raythe shoved him away before he could fire. Then the front passenger door opened hard, knocking Guy Four over.

Sands was apparently conscious, and her airbag was collapsed. Bell saw her lean over and stab at Griff’s airbag with something. The bag imploded suddenly, startling Griff awake.

“The hell?” Griff shouted. He tried to open his door, but the gears were damaged and crumpled into place. He crawled over the seats to follow Sands out her door.

Bell punched Guy Two out before the crippled man could get his own gun. Guy Three swung his gun towards Bell, but Bell dodged to the side, blocking the man’s arm. He fired twice, nearly deafening Bell, but Bell hooked his arm and twisted it until he dropped the gun. Bell slammed the man’s elbow with his forearm, breaking the joint. The man screamed but had the sense to stomp on Bell’s foot, making Bell release him. He punched Bell in the jaw, knocking him back. Bell blocked the second punch and grabbed the man by the undamaged elbow. Before he was able to break that one too, a zat shot hit them both, and Bell lost consciousness.

Guy Four, with the zat gun, had recovered his feet and stood away from the fighting. Sands, cursing her skirt and heels, ran and tackled him just above the knees. Caught off-guard, he fell to the side and dropped his zat gun. Griff stumbled after it. He wasn’t really sure what was going on, but being armed seemed like a good idea. He got the zat and shot Guy Four just as Sands rolled off of him.

Sands and Griff turned to find Raythe had the last guy in a strangle hold. He was leaning back, lifting him up, and the man’s combat boots were a good foot off the asphalt. 

“Raythe, drop him,” Griff ordered.

Raythe did. The man landed on his butt, gasping for air. Raythe growled at him, baring his teeth. Teeth that still had some of the man’s blood on them.

They heard sirens in the distance but couldn’t see any other vehicles yet.

“That’d be the pentagon police,” Griff said.

“That’s a good thing,” Sands said. “We’ll get arrested, but we can explain what happened.”

“No, get in the van,” Griff ordered.

“What? Why?”

“Just get in the van!” Griff shouted. Startled to attention at his tone, Sands helped Raythe grab Bell by the shoulders and drag him to the open side door of the van. They closed it behind them. There were no seats in the back, so they laid Bell down on the floor.

Outside, Griff grabbed the man that was now coughing on the ground by the front of his shirt and shoved the zat gun into his chest. “Who’s your contact in the Pentagon?”

He coughed again. “What?”

“Someone had to have given you details about our route and schedule to pull this off. Who’s your contact in the Pentagon?”

This time, he made contact with Griff and a tiny smile curled up the corner of his lips. “Still there.”

Griff turned when the sirens broke through his concentration. He could see the flashing red lights of the police cars still a distance off. Without looking, he released the man’s shirt and fired the zat gun. The man yelled and collapsed, and Griff ran for the van. He pulled open the driver side door just as Sands sat in the driver’s chair. Her whole front was covered in a white powder, a byproduct of having the airbag deploy on her. Griff imagined he was covered in it too.

“Move over.”

“You can’t drive, major; you have a head wound.”

Griff scowled and touched his hand to his left temple. It came away sticky, wet, and red. “Oh.” He hadn’t even noticed that his head had collided with the sedan’s window when the car was hit. Frustrated, he slammed the van’s door closed and ran to the passenger seat. “Get us out of here.”

“Yes sir.” Sands quickly turned the car around and sped down a street, looking to get back on the highway.

“Oh, and Sands?”

“Yes sir?”

“Was that a football tackle you used to take that guy down?”

“Rugby. Two years in college.”

“Right. And how’d you puncture our airbags?”

“Nail file.” She held up a metal file with a pointed tip that was meant to be used to clean dirt out from under the nail. Sands was terrifying sometimes.

~

A few minutes later, Raythe finally got Bell to wake up. The sergeant groaned and sat up on the floor of the van, which was a really uncomfortable place to sleep anyway. “I hate zats.” There were no seats in the back, evidenced by the fact that Raythe was sitting on the floor next to him, so Bell decided to just stay put. There were a few black plastic crates back there with them, but they didn’t look any more comfortable. “Where are we going?”

“We need some supplies and a different car,” Griff answered from the passenger seat. He had pulled out a handkerchief and was trying to clean off the white powder and blood on his face. “Sands, look for a Wal-Mart or something. Then we got to get out of town until we figure out what’s going on.”

“They were after Raythe,” Bell supplied. “They tried to pull him into the van without actually hurting him. That’s probably why they didn’t hit the car harder or in a spot where one of us was likely to die.”

“What is going on?” Raythe asked. “Kidnapping can’t possibly be normal behavior towards an alien associate.”

“Actually, I’m surprised something like this hasn’t happened sooner,” Griff said. “Multiple parties have tried to take custody of Teal’c, and you’re even more of a mystery.”

“I thought that’s what this interview was about. To learn more about me.”

“That’s not what he means, John,” Sands said. “There are those in Area 51, for example, that wanted to dissect Jaffa and their symbiotes to figure out how they get their superior strength and regeneration. Last year, Adrian Conrad tried to use a symbiote to cure a lethal disease. Maybe they were going to study you, figure out if there’s something in you that heals you so quickly.”

Griff turned to look behind him. “Look Raythe, I know we’ve never really discussed it, but it’s obvious you have some pretty impressive regenerative abilities, and I think it’s likely you have some senses that we don’t. That’s interesting to a lot of people, and I can’t be the only one that’s noticed.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. It’s not like I have a magic ‘heal me’ protein in my blood or anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes… No. I don’t know; I’m not a physiologist. And to me, I don’t heal quickly. It’s you who is woefully delicate. Blame evolution, not aliens.”

“Look, their motive isn’t important right now,” Griff said. “First, we have to figure out who they were.”

“Rogue NID,” Sands said flatly.

The three men looked at her oddly through the rear view mirror. She shrugged her shoulders. “What? I recognized one of them from an interview a few years back. You know, from before they started stealing technology and kidnapping aliens.”

“You recognized some random guy you met for a few minutes three years ago?” Bell said skeptically.

Sands dropped the eye contact to look back at the road. “I thought he was cute.”

“There it is,” Bell teased.

“I still don’t understand why we’re running,” Sands said, only partially to change the subject. “We haven’t done anything.”

“It’s not punishment I’m worried about. It’s a leak. No one at the SGC but General Hammond knew exactly when we would be arriving, and not even he knew the route we would be taking to get to the Pentagon. Those instructions were given to me by that officer at the airstrip, remember?”

“So you think someone at the Pentagon either orchestrated this or at least leaked our schedule?”

“I’m leaning towards the former. I thought it was odd we didn’t have a security escort coming here, and those police had a really slow response time. This was well set up.”

“Not well executed, though,” Raythe chimed in. “Really, four of them for four of us? It was insulting.”

Griff noted that Raythe’s mood seemed to have improved quite a bit. “Well, Raythe, you’ve gone to some extremes to avoid bureaucracy. 

~

Sands spent the next several minutes quizzing Griff on his health to make sure he wasn’t concussed. After nearly a half hour of darting around to make sure they weren’t being followed, Sands pulled into the parking lot of a local Target. Griff turned to address his team. “OK, everyone, ditch the jackets. Bell, you look the most normal right now.” He was the only one not covered in blood or powder and not an alien. “Go inside and get us supplies. Clothes would be good. Cash out as much money as you can because your card’s going to get tracked pretty quickly. Sands, you and I are getting us a new car. Raythe, is there anything useful in those boxes?” He gestured to the crates in the back.

“Some ammo, but we don’t have the guns for it. There’s a first aid kit.”

“Oh, bring that,” Sands said. As a pararescue, she had by far the most medical training in the team.

“And some metal shackles are bolted to the floor.”

“How very medieval,” Sands commented.

“OK, twenty minutes, max. Go.” The team nodded, and Bell pulled the sliding door open to hop out. Griff slid out of the passenger seat and stopped Raythe from also stepping out of the side of the van. “Whoa, where you going?”

“To pull the crates we need out of the van.”

“I don’t think so. Get ‘em ready to go, but stay in here.”

“Oh, come on. You can’t expect me to stay in a car the whole time.”

“I can, and I do. Now back up.” Griff cut off Raythe’s reply by slamming the door closed. 

Enclosed inside, Raythe huffed and kicked a crate. It hurt.

~

“Evening,” Sands said cheerily to the woman and child that passed her with their shopping cart. The woman smiled quickly, distracted by the toddler holding onto one of her hands.

One car behind Sands, Griff felt the car lock click underneath his wire. “And in we go.” He opened the driver door to the four-door Pontiac and started to fiddle with the ignition.

“You’re still in the passenger seat, major,” Sands said as she came up to him.

“Kylie, we’re on the run. Call me Michael.” They both frowned. That hadn’t sounded right.

“Do I have to?”

“How about just Griff?”

“I can do that si – Griff.” Then she took a closer look at the car. It was at least two decades old, and the inside smelled strongly of cigarettes. “Is this really the best choice?”

“Don’t be picky. Besides, we’re swapping again before we leave town. Now hurry; that black van kind of attracts attention.”

~

Less than ten minutes later, Bell and Raythe quickly loaded their few supplies into the trunk of the Pontiac while Griff kept a look out and Sands kept the car idling. Bell waved Raythe into the car while he closed the trunk.

“Ready?” Griff asked. Bell nodded, and the four of them piled into the car. There were a few people getting into their own vehicle a few spaces away, but Griff figured they were too far away to notice Raythe. Plus it was getting rather dark, thank god.

Griff told Sands to head north. She pulled out of the Target parking lot just twenty seconds before big black unmarked SUVs with sirens pulled in.

“Kylie, kindly get us out of here,” Griff ordered.

“With pleasure.”

~

They didn’t stop driving for four hours. Griff surprised them all by ordering them to New York City instead of Colorado Springs, and they had to avoid taking main highways. They stopped briefly to swap cars – thankfully for one that was larger, more comfortable, and didn’t smell of smoke – but otherwise stayed on the road until the need for gas forced them to stop.

The truck stop had a large market, and the bathrooms even had showers that could be rented by the minute. For this, Sands and Griff were particularly grateful. Everyone would have a chance to clean up and change into the clothes Bell got for them in Target.

Well, almost everyone.

“You can’t possibly keep me in here now,” Raythe complained. “I have to use the bathroom.”

“Tough,” Griff said. “They have cameras in there, and you’ll get noticed. We’ll find you a stop with exterior bathrooms later.”

Raythe huffed, and Sands shrugged in apology.

~

Ten minutes later, the humans were feeling much more human. Well, cleaner anyway. They separated to find snacks and drinks for the rest of the trip. New York was actually only a half hour away, but Griff suggested buying a few supplies before they entered one of the most expensive cities in the world.

The entrance bell dinged. Sands, Bell, and Griff all froze with their wares when they saw Raythe standing in the doorway. He even had the hood on his sweatshirt down, showing his gray-green skin and inhumanly white hair.

The store clerk looked up and locked eyes with the alien.

The three air force officers held their breath as they waited for the teenager to go for a panic button.

“Evening,” Raythe said casually.

“Hey.” The teenager turned a page in his magazine without looking down. “Cool costume. You going to a convention or something?”

“Coming back from one, actually,” Raythe responded. He didn’t know what a convention was, but the human behind the counter seemed to accept this easily enough.

“Cool.”

“Yeah, we’re all going home from one,” Sands decided to add. “We already took off our costumes.”

“Yeah, he just ran out of time to change,” Bell said.

“He’ll change later,” Sands said.

“OK.” The young man had already lost interest in the conversation, and he wondered why these people were still talking to him.

Raythe approached the counter. “Do you have oatmeal cookies here?”

The teenager gestured toward the aisle with their packaged baked goods and went back to his magazine.

~

“These cookies are nothing like yours, Kylie.”

“That was a hell of a stunt, Raythe!” Griff turned in his seat and yelled at Raythe, making Bell feel very uncomfortable by association. “You could have blown everything for us by walking in there.”

“But I didn’t. I’ve been telling you this since I came to this planet. People are not as prone to panic as you seem to think. That human saw something he didn’t recognize and simply accepted it as normal.”

“He has a point, Griff,” Sands said. When Griff whirled on her, she held up one hand defensively from the steering wheel. “I just mean that we’re about to drive into one of the largest, most diverse cities in the world. People dress up like vampires, paint themselves like statues, and walk around nude. Trying to hide John will probably draw more attention than simply ignoring that he looks different.”

“Yeah, speaking of drawing attention, the two of you can’t lie worth anything,” Raythe said.

“OK, that’s enough, you two.” Griff pinched the bridge of his nose. “OK, you’re probably right. But John, you can’t act out on your own. We need to stay together during this, and that means that I need to be sure you’re going to do what you’re told.”

“I know, and I apologize.”

Griff leaned back in his seat. “Looks like you’re going to get to see the world after all.”


	12. Off-Base, Part 3

**April 29, 2002**

“So, someone’s trying to kidnap John, they likely have at least one informant at the Pentagon, we’re in public with an alien, and we think this is a good time to have a vacation?”

Sands shrugged at Bell’s comment. “I’m not going to object. I’ve never been to New York before.”

Raythe trailed a little behind his two teammates. They walked through a busy street, where everyone moved quickly and purposefully, as if an unscheduled off-world activation was occurring all the time. Raythe constantly had people brushing his shoulder as they moved past him. No one seemed bothered by this closeness, but it was giving Raythe a powerful headache. He growled lowly and rubbed at his temples, which earned him an odd look from a man in a long coat that was walking in the opposite direction.

“And naturally, you want to see the Empire State Building.” Bell said this with some derision that Raythe didn’t understand. While looking at his teammates from behind, it took him a moment to figure out why Sands looked so odd. He had never see her with her hair down. It hung to her mid-back and was dark brown and wavy, probably from being tied so tight all the time. 

Bell looked pretty much the same.

“It is an icon of our country and this city. Plus, I’ve never been that high up without being in a plane.”

“It’s a cliché tourist attraction.”

“And at the moment, we are tourists.”

Raythe caught up to him teammates. "So why did Ma - Gr - Michael take off on his own?" Raythe asked.

Bell shrugged. "Said he had some contacts in town that he wanted to meet."

"And we couldn't meet them too?"

"Maybe he's embarrassed by us," Sands suggested. "And by 'us', I mean the two of you."

Raythe nodded in understanding, apparently not realizing that he was being teased.

A few minutes later, the trio found themselves waiting in line at the Empire State Building’s lobby. Raythe looked around at the architecture of the building, his headache forgotten in the sharp angles and spinning designs on the walls. The ceiling was particularly interesting. The golden images reminded him of suns and old star maps. It was nice. He didn’t even notice the crowded line until he heard a small voice ask him, “Are you a monster?”

He looked down. A young female was in front of him, standing near her mother. The mother turned and looked down when she heard her daughter speak and said, “Trecia, that’s very rude. He’s not - Oh!” The woman started when she actually looked up at Raythe.

Raythe grinned widely at her. “I am a monster, actually. See this,” he held up his right hand and pointed to the slit in his palm. “I use it suck out people’s brains.”

“Ewww, John,” Bell said. Then he addressed the woman. “Sorry about him. Clearly I should never have introduced him to zombie movies. I’m pretty sure he dresses like this purely to scare small children.”

“Not small children exclusively.”

Behind them, Sands sighed. “And you guys wonder why Michael might be embarrassed by you.”

~  
**Elsewhere...**

Griff sat down outside the coffee shop, enjoying the rare good New York weather. He watched the people walk by until a woman sat down at his table. She was in her forties, was about Griff's height, and had dark hair. She smiled as she sat. "Morning, Michael."

Griff smiled. "Hey Marie. Thanks for coming. I know you're busy."

Mariana Martinez laughed a little and rolled her eyes. "When your ex-husband shows up with his super soldiers in tow and asks for breakfast, usually there's something interesting going on. Is it true that one of your team is an alien?"

Griff scanned around to make sure there was no one within earshot of that alien comment. "I wouldn't call them super soldiers. But yes to the alien thing. How'd you find out about that?"

"I keep tabs on you. Plus there's only a handful of aliens that live on base. It's kind of a big deal when it happens. Congratulations on it happening to you."

"Thanks, I think. He's mostly a pain in the ass. Like yesterday, for example."

"What's going on, Michael?"

Griff rubbed the back of his neck. “You heard of the rogue NID agents that have been stealing alien tech?”

“And manipulating politicians into positions to control the stargate? Politicians that know about the SGC, like Congresswoman Michaels, the woman I work for? Yeah, I might have heard about them. They’re something of a concern to those of us that are usually Earth-side.” 

“Do you really talk this casually in public all the time? It’s starting to worry me.”

“Michael,” Martinez said with warning in her voice. “I’m worried _now_. What’s going on? Why aren’t you in Colorado?”

Griff sighed. “My team was traveling in DC for a debrief. We got attacked. They tried to kidnap Raythe. We’re fine, but Lieutenant Sands, one of mine, ID’ed one of the attackers as NID.”

Martinez shook her head. “So why are you here instead of back in Colorado? Or at the nearest Air Force base?”

“Well, I couldn’t exactly walk onto any old base and say I needed security for my alien, now could I? But I realized that the rogues that attacked us had to have details about where we were going to be. Only a few people at the Pentagon could’ve known that. I have a list of those I about.” He slid a folded paper over to her. “There’s a mole there, and if we retreat and bring accusations to my superiors, the mole will just bury the evidence. We have to find the informant before that happens.”

“What makes you think it hasn’t happened already? If this mole even exists, and he has any sense at all, he’d have severed all communication with the former NID agents and destroyed any evidence the second the objective failed.”

“I guess I don’t know for sure, but I know Raythe, and anyone around him, isn’t safe until we stop whoever wants him.”

“And this is why you’ve come to me? To start an investigation into the Pentagon?” Martinez picked up the paper and waved it around for emphasis. “Michael, you must realize that I don’t have anywhere near that kind of authority. I’m a congresswoman’s chief of staff; I’m a glorified secretary.”

“But you’ve worked with the Pentagon before. I mean, Congresswoman Michaels has. You must have developed some contacts.”

“Sure, with other secretaries. I don’t have any actual pull. At most, I could make a few phone calls, ask some questions, but that would definitely let the mole know where you are.”

Griff smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Well, about those phone calls…”

~  
Eighty-six stories up and on the balcony of one of the tallest buildings in the world, Raythe was stunned by the city before him. It was massive. It must be the size of a hive ship, but it was much more crowded. It was noisy. Nearly one thousand feet up, and he could still hear car horns and shouts from below. 

There was so much noise. It was a constant hum of voices that pressed in on him, on his head and chest. He couldn’t focus on any one sound, and he lost track of where Sands and Bell were on the balcony. He moved away from the others milling around the telescopes and pulled his hood up, hoping to dull some of the sound. It didn’t work. The sound wasn’t coming in through his ears. 

He looked down and was struck by a sense of vertigo that had nothing to do with the height. This shouldn’t be able to happen. They shouldn’t be able to push into his mind. Humans couldn’t. At best, Raythe could sense those he was in very close proximity to in times of heightened emotion. But this, this was impossible. They were overwhelming his senses.

There were just so many people. 

And there was no way they would all stay here forever. These Earth humans were adventurous and creative. They would make it to his home galaxy eventually, and they would go to war with his people. It was inevitable.

He felt a hand on his elbow. It took a second for him to focus on it among so many distractions, but he came back to himself and realized it was Sands. 

"Are you alright?"

Raythe shook his head. "We're going to lose."

"Don't say that. We have options yet."

"There are so many people, Kylie. They're practically suffocating each other. How can you survive like this? You can't possibly have the resources or patience to see to everyone."

Sands seemed confused by the apparent subject change but didn't push the issue. "No, not really. We're overpopulated, and we fight with each other more than we fight with the Goa'uld. We talked about this, remember?"

"No, you don't understand. How could you? You can't feel each other, how are you expected to see the magnitude of this? This planet has more people on it than are likely in my entire _galaxy_. Yet you argue and fret over every life lost to the Goa'uld. Do you realize that had you simply made a treaty with the system lords to give them slaves and hosts, you probably could have avoided a war?"

"That's not an option for us, John. We value all human life, even all intelligent life."

"The Goa'uld are intelligent."

"Yes, and we don't kill them cavalierly."

"I know. Major Griff told me that SG-1 once saved the life of Apophis simply because he asked. But I can't understand why."

"It worries me a little when you say things like this, John. I know we can't judge others by our standards - alien people have alien ways - but it worries me about how you must have interacted with humans in your galaxy. You didn't use them as slaves, did you, like the Goa'uld do?"

Raythe looked down at Sands. The noise below didn’t seem so overwhelming now. "No, why would we? We use technology to our advantage, not mass labor. And we avoid humans in general. In our experience, humans are primitive and superstitious. Interacting with them usually just causes problems."

"You look down on them. But you work with us. You treat the officers with respect and follow their authority. You don’t see the double standard there?"

"The people of Earth are unlike any humans I know of. I think, if our people were to meet, it would be as peers, not superiors. And I don't really know how that would change things, how our leaders would react, if we would see humans the same. I wonder if it would change how we... how we live," he trailed off, unwilling to voice what he actually meant. He looked back at Sands, a human that was his colleague and friend. "You're different, is all I mean."

Sands must have sensed that he was uncomfortable, because she shifted the conversation to a more academic track. "Are there really no advanced human civilizations in your galaxy?"

Raythe shrugged. "I have heard of humans that live in ships in space, like us, but I have never seen any. The most advanced humans I've ever seen personally were what you might call pre-industrial."

But it seemed as though Sands could not quite let the previous subject drop. She looked over the edge of the balcony at the masses below. "Do you really think we should just make a deal with the Goa'uld for the lives of those we can't support?"

"Not at all."

"But you said --."

"I said that there was once a point where that might have been the better option. But you are long past that point. The days of the system lords' rule is coming to an end, and the SGC is directly responsible for that. Even if you had let them be, the Goa'uld have one glaring weakness that would have led to their downfall eventually."

"Really? Is it their overconfidence? Their lack of creativity? Oh oh, their bad fashion sense!"

Raythe frowned. "I kind of like the ones with the flowing cloaks."

Sands snorted. "You would."

"But no, it's their dependence on the Jaffa. They have built their regimes by subjugating sentient, free-thinking warriors. Admittedly, they've done it very well. Portraying themselves as gods and genetically altering the Jaffa to be dependent on young symbiotes was brilliant, but it only delayed the inevitable. No species would take that kind of abuse forever. Eventually, the Jaffa would have risen up against their 'gods', and the Goa'uld would have fallen. Teal’c and the SGC only sped up the process."

Sands seemed pleased with this (for some reason), and she leaned her shoulder against his briefly before leaning to look over the edge again.

“It’s good to know the good guys always win.”

~  
That evening, everyone came back to the motel tired but otherwise feeling much better than the night previous. Bell was particularly happy to see that Griff brought several hundred dollars in cash with him since it meant he wouldn’t have to pay for the motel room. It was a double room, so Bell and Raythe had to share one bed while Griff took the couch and Sands got her own bed. Bell was less than thrilled that he had to share with Raythe, who was by far the largest of the four.

“It’s only for a little while,” Griff assured them. “I’ve put out some feelers. Hopefully we’ll have more information in a few days.”

In an attempt to mollify Bell and Raythe, Griff let them pick out the station on the TV. Then he promptly took the remote back when they chose an airplane-edited version of _Dawn of the Dead_.

“I hate B horror movies.”

Eventually, the group settled on _Law & Order_, though they could only stand to watch one episode because Raythe frequently interrupted with questions. Mostly about the commercials. Finally, Griff called lights out and everyone went to sleep, anxious for some news that would let them all go home.


	13. Off Base, Part 4

**April 30, 2002**

“Is it safe for us to walk around with all these cameras watching us?” Raythe pointed to the CCTV camera mounted on a lamp post. He and Sands were walking through a large park that was apparently centrally located in the city. They were supposed to be getting breakfast and coffee for Bell and Griff, who evidently did not appreciate waking up with the dawn. Sands recommended ‘taking the scenic route’ to find a bakery or coffeehouse. If ‘scenic’ meant going in the completely wrong direction for a several blocks in order to walk even further in the wrong direction through the park, then they were doing an excellent job.

Sands seemed happy with the surroundings. Raythe had to admit that the walkways through the trees and flowers were much more pleasant than anywhere else in the city so far. It was cold and a little misty, but there were already a fair number of people about.

“I don’t know. Griff seems to think we’ll be okay, but I think he’s up to something.”

“I am sure he will tell us when it becomes important for us to know.”

Sands rolled her eyes a bit but nodded. “I’m sure he will.”

A woman in tight clothing with headphones on her ears ran past them. Raythe pulled his hood up so that his hair didn’t draw attention. They came near a bend in the walkway that curved out a bit to create an alcove with a half wall bordering it. A man played the violin in the alcove, and the runner stopped to listen for a few moments.

Sands touched Raythe’s arm to get his attention and indicated that they should step off the path a few feet. The grass was cold and damp but still pleasant beneath his shoes. “I want to ask you something. Something that I think you’ve been avoiding telling us because it’s one of those secrets of your species. And if so, that’s fine; you don’t have to answer me.”

“Alright. What is it?”

“Can you read minds?”

“That is not what I was expecting you to say,” Raythe chuckled, and Sands relaxed a bit, “so apparently not all that well.”

Sands smiled but still looked at him. She wanted a more thorough answer than that.

Raythe sighed. “I can’t read _your_ mind. Wraith do communicate telepathically, but human minds simply aren’t evolved in a way that is compatible with ours. We only can read each other’s minds.”

“I thought that might be it. That’s why talking seems so time-consuming to you. But you do understand why this could be bad, right? The higher-ups won’t allow a psychic in the same room as anyone that knows state secrets, no matter what he claims about the limitations of his abilities. No one would allow you in the _Pentagon_ , and for good reason.”

“I do understand. Believe me, I understood that almost immediately when I came to the SGC. That’s why I keep it a secret. But I promise you, Kylie, no sensitive information is in danger around me. _From_ me.”

“I do believe you, John. But there are times when you seem so aware. So sure where people are and even what they’re feeling. A better sense of smell or hearing just doesn’t account for everything you can do.”

Raythe growled a little in frustration. “Yes, I can sense humans. Their minds. After all, you have a mind; I can feel it’s there. And sometimes people do project very strong emotion, usually when they’re very, very scared. But I swear I can’t just pull information from your head. It doesn’t work like that.”

“So you can’t tell if we’re lying?”

Raythe paused a bit at that. “Well, sometimes. If I’m standing very close to you.”

“Or sitting very close to us?”

And Raythe finally figured out what Sands was actually worried about. “Is this about our poker games?”

“I knew it! I knew you were cheating! No one’s that good.”

“Hey, I don’t cheat. I’m just using the senses I was born with.”

“Yeah, like mind reading. That’s cheating. Ugh, I’m never playing a bluffing game with you again.”

Raythe chuckled. “So when did you figure it out?”

“Oh, months ago. Pretty much since you first complained about how ineffective verbal communication is. I think Michael has too. I don’t know about Jeff. It’s not really something we talk about.”

“What do you mean, ‘not something you talk about’?”

“You know. One of those things about you that we pretend we don’t notice so that we can leave it out of mission reports.”

“I didn’t realize you did that.”

“Mmhm.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

“I’ll do my best.” He smiled at her. “It’s frustrating sometimes. I feel like my words are never properly understood. Like there is a fundamental aspect of myself that you are simply incapable of even knowing is there, let alone understanding.”

Sands wrapped her arms around herself and looked down at her feet. It must make him feel very isolated, even more than being an alien buried under a mountain already did. She looked over at the violinist. The runner had moved off, and an elderly couple out for a morning walk was dancing in front of the musician. 

And then she got an idea. “You know, we have other ways of communicating. More ‘fundamental’ ones. Come here.” She took Raythe’s hand and pulled him back to the walkway. “It’s called music.”

“I know what music is, Kylie. I’ve heard it.”

“No, you’ve heard soundtracks on movies. Maybe someone playing guitar on base. But I doubt you’ve paid much attention. Here.” She made him stand beside the violinist, out of the way of the dancing couple. “Listen. What’s this song about?”

Raythe humored her and listened. The music was slow and a bit on the high side, but Raythe doubted that was what Sands wanted him to notice. It was something else. It was… “Sad. It’s sad.”

“Yeah it is.” Sands dropped a few dollars into the musician’s open violin case and sat down cross-legged on the ground.

“Why are they dancing if it’s sad?” he asked, nodding toward the couple before them.

“Dancing is kind of like music. It’s hard to explain, but it… is. It’s just something we do.”

Raythe crouched down next to his friend. “We have music too. But we don’t… it’s not with our ears. But yes, it’s like this.”

Sands nodded and closed her eyes. She tilted her head to the side as she listened. “Do you dance too?”

He didn’t answer.

~

Griff didn’t really have an issue with women in the military. When everyone was in uniform, it was easy to forget gender and just treat them all like soldiers. But when Sands let her long hair fall in waves down her back instead of pinned in a tight bun under a cap, when she was Kylie, not Lieutenant Sands, he was painfully aware that he controlled the life of someone’s daughter. Not just their child, but their daughter. And that was scary. 

He was just grateful they weren’t in hostile territory.

So long as he didn’t count New York City as hostile.

“Alright, good news first.” Griff had his team gathered in their motel room. Daughter-fear or not, he felt much better now that he had a healthy dose of coffee and food in him. “I may have an in at the Pentagon.”

“May have?” Bell asked.

“That’s pretty much the bad news. I don’t know where this contact will lead us or what red flags it will raise.”

“Well that’s… vague,” Bell said. Breakfast hadn’t quite hit him yet, and he was feeling a little tetchy. 

“Red flags? Aren’t you worried that the mole in the Pentagon will know we’re investigating him rather than just going back to Colorado?” Sands asked.

“Well, actually, that’s what I’m counting on...”

~

Andrew Chapman did not like having his arm broken. Admittedly, he didn’t know anyone that did like having their arm broken, but for Chapman, this dislike was more relevant. Particularly, he did not like Sergeant Jeffrey Bell breaking his arm a few days ago while he was trying to acquire the alien specimen. He was not going to feel bad for what he and his teammates were about to do.

He looked through his binoculars again. The window of his empty apartment looked out over the buildings nearby. Mariana Martinez, formerly Mariana Griff, was easily visible through the windows of her fourth-storey apartment. Chapman found it interesting that Major Griff went to his ex-wife for help, but it ultimately proved pointless. Mariana had called several administrators and secretaries in the Pentagon that morning asking about who had access to schedules from Cheyenne Mountain. Chapman and sundry were in the city just a few hours later. They hadn’t found the alien yet, but Mariana Martinez was going to help them fix that.

Mariana fixed herself some dinner, watched TV while doing paperwork, and, eventually, turned off all the lights, used the restroom, and went to bed. Two hours later, when she was sure to be asleep, Chapman radioed the remaining three members of his team to go in after her.

~

In much the same way that Chapman didn’t like having his arm broken, Jacob Lopez did not like being zatted. He had been tazed a few times in his life, mostly in training, and it was definitely unpleasant. Zat guns were far more painful. So he did not feel bad when he ordered his team up the stairs in Martinez’s apartment building. Involving a civilian, especially one in politics, wasn’t exactly ideal, but SG-2’s Major Griff should have just let them take the alien. He really did bring this on himself.

Lopez checked the corridor and let another one of his team pick the lock into Martinez’s apartment. Then the three former NID agents slipped inside. They stopped a moment to let their eyes adjust to the dark and make sure their entrance hadn’t woken the only occupant in the bedroom. They heard nothing, so they crept to the bedroom door. 

Martinez was visible in her bed, though the covers were pulled up high on her shoulders. Her long, dark hair fanned out in waves over her pillow.

Lopez carried the only zat gun they had with them. They had lost the others two days ago in their fight with SG-2. But that was fine; they only needed the one. He pointed it at Martinez.

A zat gun fired with the characteristic shock and static. Lopez spasmed and dropped to his knees in pain. “You gotta be kidding me.” Then he passed out again.

Shocked, the other two rogues looked at the figure in the bed. Lieutenant Kylie Sands sat up and pointed her zat gun at them, looking very smug. “Please, try to run,” she said.

One dove for her. The other took her advice. The diver got a second shot from the zat gun, and the runner got tackled by Raythe as he dove out of the adjacent bathroom. Raythe had the man pinned to the floor in no time.

 _“Lopez? Lopez, what’s going on? Why were there two zat blasts?”_ the radio clipped to Lopez’s belt asked.

Griff came out of the bathroom at a more leisurely pace while his ex-wife looked at the scene over his shoulder. She turned the bathroom light on to get a better look. “That was exciting,” she said. “Ended kind of fast, though.”

“That’s a good thing, Marie,” Griff said. “It means there was less of a chance of anyone getting shot.”

“He got shot,” Sands pointed to the man on the bed, who was draped over her feet. Then she leaned forward a bit more to point to the man on the floor. “And he got shot.”

“I don’t count them,” Griff said.

Then Lopez’s radio crackled to life. _“Guys? Hello? Anyone there?”_ But it wasn’t Chapman’s voice. It was Bell’s.

Griff picked up the radio. “Yeah, all clear here. You?”

_“...I’ve decided that I love New Yorkers.”_

“What?”

~  
**Six hours earlier…**

In addition to the cash, Griff had also received his ex-wife’s apartment key, which he used to let his team in. Raythe pulled his hood down and looked around. There was a couch and TV, a dining table with paper spread everywhere, and a kitchen with an open view to the TV room. “I’m beginning to realize that I live very frugally. That TV is much bigger than mine.”

“Quiet, you,” Griff said. “If the Pentagon mole takes the bait, then our rogue NID team should be looking for Marie in a couple of hours. That doesn’t give us much time.”

Raythe and Sands went into the bedroom to look over the layout there. They found that the closet was too cramped for any of them to fit comfortably, but the bathroom was much larger and directly connected to the bedroom.

Griff and Bell went to the window. “If I were them,” Griff said, “I would set up a lookout across the street. That’s an apartment building over there. There’s only a handful of them that can look directly into these windows. If one is vacant or the tenants leave for the night, that would be ideal. Look, that building doesn’t even have a doorman over there.”

“Your wife really needs to find a better neighborhood.”

“Ex-wife. And she really does.”

“I’ll go check it out.”

A few hours later, Mariana Martinez did paperwork while watching TV, turned off all the lights in her apartment, and stepped into her bathroom. She closed the door and flicked the light on. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to concentrate on schedules and state permits when you know you’re being surveilled?”

“No, but I can guess,” Griff said. He was leaning against the sink while Raythe sat on the closed toilet and Sands sat on the bathtub rim.

“Hello Miss Martinez,” Sands said. “I’ll be playing you tonight. How long do you normally spend in here?”

Martinez shrugged at Sands but looked sideways at Raythe. “Not long, I guess.” Then she decided to be bold and held her hand out to the alien. “Hi John Raythe. I’ve heard a lot about you. Welcome to New York, I guess. Or Earth, really.”

Raythe smiled, showing all his pointed teeth. “Thank you. I have found your kidnappings a little underwhelming in their effectiveness.”

Martinez giggled a little, happy to relieve the tension of being around the strange being. “We’ll try to work on that.”

~

Across the street and up two stories, Bell waited. On the fifth level, there was a vacant apartment that would be the best available vantage point to see into Martinez’s apartment. So Bell sat himself in the stairwell, one level up from from the fifth, and waited.

And waited.

This building had an elevator, so there was very little foot traffic in the stairwell. Eventually, he heard someone come upstairs and enter the door directly below him. Bell stood, went down a level, and cracked open the door. Once he saw that it was clear, he crept to the vacant apartment in question. He pressed his ear to the door, and heard movement inside. Perfect.

A few minutes later, Bell heard, “Oh shit,” then, “Lopez? Lopez, what’s going on? Why were there two zat blasts?” More movement and, “Oh come on.”

Quick footsteps came to the door, and Bell stepped to the side of the doorway. The door opened, and Bell saw half of Chapman exit. The unfortunate man’s sling had apparently gotten tangled on the doorknob, and he was fumbling to remove it.

“OK,” Bell said and then quickly kicked Chapman’s good arm against the opposite door frame.

Chapman screamed in pain and shock, then, “You have got to be kidding me!” Impressively, even with two injured arms, Chapman had the wherewithal to kick back at Bell, forcing him to step back.

The fight then abruptly ended when there was a heavy thud, and Chapman collapsed to the floor, dazed and groaning. A heavy set woman stood over him and shook a baseball bat at Bell. “I won’t be having any gang fights in my building, oh no I won’t!”

“What? No no no. No gang fighting! No, I’m military, and he’s… a bad, bad guy, I swear.” The woman raised her bat menacingly, so Bell held up his hands while he crouched down to retrieve Chapman’s radio. “Guys? Hello? Anyone there?” 

_“Yeah, all clear here. You?”_

“...I’ve decided that I love New Yorkers.” The woman nodded along as if to say, ‘That’s right, you do.’

 _“What?”_ Griff’s voice said.

“You all get back inside and mind your own business!” the woman shouted at several people that had dared to poke their heads into the hall.

Into the radio, Bell said, “I’ll… meet you guys downstairs.”

~

It turned out to not be very difficult to find the Pentagon informant. Jacob Lopez had several cell phones on him, one of which had only one number. With a DC area code.

Within an hour, Mariana Martinez had Pentagon security arrest the informant, and Congresswoman Michaels was credited for apprehending traitors. Griff, Bell, Sands, and Raythe finally - _finally_ \- got to return to Colorado Springs, and Raythe’s interview was postponed until better security could be established. 

But their return to Cheyenne Mountain lacked the happy welcome they were all expecting. They got through NORAD security without any fuss, but once they exited the elevator, it was obvious that something had happened. The handful of people that entered the elevator after them had distracted, pinched features, and no one was yelling at them to meet General Hammond in the conference room. Raythe shrugged at his teammates and separated from them in favor of heading for a shower. 

When he passed to women’s locker room, however, he stopped. Major Carter was crying. The door had been left open, and he could see her sitting on a bench. Doctor Fraiser was standing over her, rubbing her shoulder in an attempt to comfort.

“Doctor, what’s happened?” Raythe asked.

Doctor Fraiser looked up at him, apparently a little startled that anyone else was there. “Daniel Jackson has died.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terrible at writing anything with actual plot. I'm going back to just writing silly scenes.


	14. You're Just Ghosts

**May 1, 2002**

It was a shame. Raythe had liked Doctor Jackson. He lent him books and seemed genuinely unaffected by his admittedly alien appearance. He had been one of the first to welcome him to the SGC. And Raythe knew that he wasn’t special; Jackson treated everyone with such decency. He greeted everyone with a handshake and a “Please, call me Daniel.” But it was still nice. The scientists revered him, the military respected him, even the administrators liked him. The man had been dead only a few hours, and a sadness had already settled over the entire mountain.

Or not dead, apparently. Ascended. Sure, Sands had explained ascension to him months ago, and it even made some kind of metaphysical sense, but Raythe had trouble figuring out how it was really any different from death. Jackson wasn’t here anymore either way.

Raythe entered his bedroom in a daze. He scanned the room out of habit and started to remove his boots. Then there was a glimpse of white cloth to his right, and he spun around, reaching for a handgun that was not there.

“Hello Wraith.” 

Raythe started in surprise. There was a woman in his room. She hadn’t been there a second ago. In spite of the fact that she spoke with her words instead of her mind, he knew immediately that she meant his species and not his name. Raythe inhaled deeply, but he couldn’t pick up her scent. He sensed no emotion from her, either. If he couldn’t clearly see her with his own eyes, he wouldn’t even know she was there. She had brown hair that was pinned back from her face, and her white clothing looked familiar. It looked like the uniform of a Lantian battleship commander.

He gritted his teeth as he realized who – or, rather, what – she was. “Hello Lantian.” And then he was surprised to realize he knew her face. There wasn’t a wraith in existence that didn’t know her face. Raythe roared and dove for her. He was pissed, but not surprised, when he went right through her. 

“I see you know me.”

Raythe panted a few times to get himself under control. This was useless. “General Omada, commander of the Lantian military fleet.” Raythe growled in barely-suppressed rage. “Your first strikes killed more wraith in three days than were killed in the decades-long siege of Atlantis. Are you proud of that, Lantian? We show your face to teach what the enemy looks like. What a _murderer_ looks like!”

She didn’t respond. Not right away. “No, I am not proud of that. But I accepted what I was many years ago, and I will not justify my actions, least of all to you. It is, after all, one of the reasons I am here, now, helping where I can.”

“Yeah, Oma Desala. I’ve heard of you. An ‘ascended being’.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Imagine my surprise when I learned what really happened to the Lantians that escaped. They didn’t live their lives and recreate their society in another galaxy, no. They left behind everything they cared about and became bodiless, emotionless, _soulless_ energy waves that can’t really be considered alive.”

Her face betrayed no emotion, but Raythe definitely heard defensiveness in her next words. “We see everything, Wraith. The atoms that make up all things, the fates of civilizations, and the very turn of the universe. Your threat to us is nonexistent, now. I came simply to see if a wraith had really made it to Earth.”

“But you can’t do anything about it, can you? Here I am, befriending your favorite children on your favorite planet, and all you’re allowed to do is come to my room and posture! You’re useless, Lantian! For all your sight, you may as well be dead! You’re just ghosts – _wraith_!” Raythe broke down to bellows of laughter, and he had to bend over with his hands on his thighs. “Your mighty race - you should have accepted your loss and let us feed!”

Oma opened her mouth again, but Raythe had none of it. He stood right up to her, his snarling face inches from her impassive one. “Run away, Lantian. Go back to your existence of energy and watchfulness. Do what your kind have always done – run away and hide!”

Oma’s jaw clenched, but he was right. She could do nothing. She melted into golden energy and disappeared from the room. Raythe let out great peals of laughter, and eventually the noise brought someone into his room. Sands pushed his door open and saw Raythe hunched over, laughing at nothing.

“John, are… are you OK?”

Raythe got his breathing under control and stood up. “Yes, I am OK. I am quite well, actually. Jackson, he – oh, he is in way over his head.”


	15. Season 6 Clipshow

**May 10, 2002**

Jonas Quinn was having some trouble fitting in. Everyone knew it. He had been here almost two weeks, and O’Neill still barely spoke to him. But at least some of the scientists talked to him.

“I just want to be able to help out, try to make up for what happened,” Jonas said. He was playing ping pong against Sergeant Siler in the rec room. Harriman was standing next to the table, waiting to play the winner.

“You know, if you want some pointers, John could give them to you,” Harriman said.

“John?” Quinn asked. There were a lot of Johns on base. It was apparently a very common name.

“You know, since he’s not from this planet either.”

“Oh, right. John.” Siler seemed very excited once he realized which John Harriman was talking about. “Yeah, he could give you some advice. He’s good at dealing with the soldiers, the bureaucrats, the scientists. He’d be great. He lives here on base, too.”

“Well, great,” Quinn said, all grins. “I’ll go talk to him.” Quinn got directions to the correct living quarters and left, visibly hopeful about finding someone to relate to.

Once he had left, Harriman said to Siler, “So we’re bad people, right?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Want to go watch?”

“Oh yeah.”

Several floors later, they stopped one corridor away from the room in question. Thankfully, Quinn had not spotted them. They heard the metallic knock on the door and the squeak of the door opening. They peeked around the corner.

“Hi, I’m – whoa!” Quinn rapidly backpedaled from the door where John Raythe stood in all his six-foot-one, green-skinned, fanged glory. Quinn smacked against the opposite wall before he stopped.

Siler and Harriman started laughing, jerking Quinn’s attention away from the alien.

“Ah,” Raythe’s deep, grating voice echoed down the hall. “You must be new. Don’t worry, you are being what is called ‘hazed’. It’s apparently normal.”

“What?”

“Come in.” Raythe grabbed Quinn by the shoulder and bodily pulled him into his room.

“What?”

~

**Four days later…**

“This isn’t quite what I meant by watching television to learn more about Earth,” Raythe said. He was checking up on the new guy in Jackson’s old office and found the weather station playing.

“Really?” Quinn asked. “I’ve found it really helpful.”

Raythe rubbed his eyes. Maybe some people were just never going to fit in.

~

**June 7, 2002**

Sands quickly made it to Raythe’s room and knocked. There was no reply, but she could hear television sounds and multiple voices coming from inside. She opened the door. Raythe, Bell, and Major Pierce were sitting on Raythe’s floor and couch, staring at his tiny TV screen, and button mashing on Nintendo 64 controllers. “Are you guys playing Mario Kart?”

“Quiet, I’m winning!” Raythe said.

Pierce scoffed. “Hardly. I’m well in the lead.”

“Heh heh. Not for long.” The grate to his voice made it sound quite ominous. There was a beep, then a small explosion, and then the ‘woooaaah’ of a character wiping out.

“No!”

“John, Major Griff wants to know if you know what to do with a gate that’s about to blow up from an overload of the superconducting coils.”

“Uh… ask Major Carter?”

“You know, we thought of that already.”

“Don’t worry.” Bell distractedly waved his hand at Sands without looking up, though she wasn’t sure if it was meant as a lack of worry or as a dismissal. “They’ll technobabble their way out of it just in time. They don’t need us.”

Sands rolled her eyes but couldn’t argue the point.

~

**June 28, 2002**

“How do you always manage to get these cookies past security?” Bell asked of Sands. The whole team – even Griff this time - was in the rec room again, playing Yahtzee, of all things. For some reason, Sands had declared a ban on poker. Bell wasn’t about to complain since she was the one that brought treats. You don’t argue with the person that brings treats. “Whenever I try to bring in so much as a Gatorade, they confiscate it upstairs.”

“Maybe they just like me better.”

“She bakes two batches and gives them one,” Griff answered without looking up from his dice. He was going for a large straight.

“You weren’t supposed to know that, sir.”

“You bribe your way through? Kylie, I thought you were the honest one.”

“It’s not a bribe, it’s… sharing.”

“Is caring,” Raythe said around a wonderful something called a moon pie. It was a chocolate cookie with marshmallow whip and chocolate frosting on top. Then he realized that everyone was staring at him again. That usually happened when he said something that they didn’t think he knew. This time, he actually understood why. “There’s… not a lot to do on Saturday mornings.”

Any response was cut off by a commotion in the hallway. Intrigued, SG-2 looked as a small horde of off-duty doctors and nurses rushed to the infirmary. Formerly off-duty. They certainly seemed busy now.

Raythe heard bits of conversation as they passed. “… a real Ancient… O’Neill.”

Raythe started. An Ancient? They didn’t mean here, did they? Waving off his friends’ questions, he followed the medics to the elevator, where he was stopped by Jonas Quinn. “Hey, you can’t go with them, there’s a virus. It’s quarantined.”

The elevator doors closed, and Raythe turned to look properly at Quinn. “Is there really an Ancient?” There was an edge to Raythe’s voice that he hoped Quinn took as surprise.

“Yeah. Ayiana. She’s… it’s amazing. She survived in the ice for who knows how long. She saved all of us.”

“So she’s really here, on the base? Answering questions?”

Quinn’s face fell immediately. “She’s not going to make it.”

Raythe let out a quiet sigh of relief. A whole host of other emotions quickly followed – glee at the death of another Lantian, disappointment at not getting a gate address to his home galaxy (that alone brought ambivalence), and even sympathy for all the SGC members that just wanted one straight answer from an Ancient. But the relief came first. His secret was still safe.

~

**December 11, 2002**

Bell rubbed the back of his neck as the hot water ran down his back. Showers on base weren’t always the most private, but at least they were hot. His apartment was rather cheap, and the water usually only got lukewarm. Half-asleep, Bell looked down at his feet.

And then a giant centipede crawled out of the drain and onto his foot.

“What? Ah. Ahh!” Bell back-pedaled away from the black and yellow bug, stumbled over his own feet, and fell out of the shower, taking the thin curtain with him.

Raythe looked over from the sink, where he was shaving. “Oh yes, the base is being overrun with extradimensional bugs. Did I not mention that earlier?”

Bell, still tangled in a shower curtain and with the centipede crawling on his knee, just gave him the finger.


	16. Biological Warfare

**Biological Warfare**

_February 1, 2003_

Raythe awoke abruptly and way too early. Someone had knocked hard on his door. “Yes, I’m awake, come in.”

He checked his bedside clock. 4:49. This had better be an emergency.

Jonas Quinn barged into his room and flicked the light on. “Oh thank goodness, you’re awake. We were beginning to think we were the only ones. We can’t wake anyone up.”

Raythe buried his face into his pillow to block out the light. “That’s probably because it’s not even five in the morning yet. It’s still the graveyard shift.”

Teal’c entered Raythe’s room behind Quinn. “John’Raythe, we are glad to see you unaffected. Something is keeping everyone else asleep. We cannot wake them.”

Raythe immediately snapped to full wakefulness and stood up. “This must be some sort of attack on the base. Have you checked the stargate yet to see if it activated last night, and are there more quarters to search?”

Quinn threw his arms up in surrender. No one paid any attention to him.

~

It turned out that checking the gate logs was the first thing Teal’c did when he came out of his kelno’reem an hour ago and realized that there was no one moving about the base. He discovered two gate technicians slumped over their consoles, fast asleep, and no record of gate activity all night. After that, Teal’c had quickly searched as many offices, barracks, and living quarters as he could. Jonas Quinn, and now John Raythe, were so far the only ones he could rouse.

The group exited Raythe’s room and quickly found Nyan – Daniel Jackson’s former research assistant and current member of SG-11 – roaming the halls. The small, unassuming man was stirring a mug of coffee and seemed to be on his way to the control room.

“Where’d you get the coffee?” Quinn asked as the group continued down the hall, checking rooms for signs of life.

“The mess hall,” Nyan said.

“You woke up to find everyone asleep, and you’re first thought was to go get breakfast?” Quinn asked.

“No, I worked all night, alone, wanted coffee, and found the attendant asleep in the kitchen. So I turned off the stove, put out the fire from his hat falling on the stove, and then got the coffee. And then found you guys.”

Raythe opened a bathroom door. Empty. “So, who are you again?”

Nyan frowned. “I’m Nyan. SG-11?”

Raythe shrugged. 

“I lived on base until I got an apartment in town a few months ago?”

“Doesn’t sound familiar.” He checked an office. Specialist Chin was sprawled out on her floor, fast asleep. She didn’t look to be in any immediate danger, so Raythe closed the door again. “Are we sure this isn’t normal? Like some sort of species-wide hibernation?”

Teal’c said, “I have never heard of such a practice for humans.”

“Seriously, I lived in the quarters next to yours for a year.”

Raythe shook his head. “No, I’m pretty sure I would remember that.” Then, to Teal’c, “Are you sure? Maybe nobody remembers hibernating before because they were all asleep. We should check the news, see if life outside the mountain is awake.”

Everyone stopped and stared at Raythe. “What?” he asked. “Am I really the first person here to think of turning on a television?”

~

Apparently, he was. So Raythe, Teal’c, Quinn, and Nyan went to Teal’c’s quarters, which were closer at this point in the search. Teal’c turned on his television set and started flipping through channels while the other three stood hovering around him. It was mostly news and early morning talk shows, but the people in them were definitely awake.

“Why is your TV so much nicer than mine?” Raythe asked.

Quinn said, “So this brings us back to the Attack on the Base theory.”

Teal’c turned off the television and said, “The Goa’uld have a wide variety of toxins that would be able to render a large area of people unconscious, though I do not know why they would. If they had the opportunity to employ biological warfare, they would simply destroy the mountain.”

“And you’re sure the stargate wasn’t activated all night?” Raythe asked.

“Not as far as I could discern.”

“Leaving off the ‘why’ for a moment, I think we are ignoring a more important question,” Quinn said. “Why aren’t the four of us asleep?”

“That is a good question,” Raythe said. “I can understand why Teal’c and I would be resistant to any number of things, but you two are human, just as everyone else that is asleep.”

“Human, but we’re not from Earth,” Nyan said.

“Are you not?” Raythe asked.

“Seriously, a _year_!”

“So whatever-it-is is not only affecting only humans, it’s only affecting Earthlings,” Quinn summed up.

“We should still discern how widespread this is,” Teal’c said. “The best place to check would be the security check point at the surface.”

~

Everyone was asleep there too, including the security outside NORAD. The group of four aliens eventually found themselves at the outer blast door at the entrance to Cheyenne Mountain. Past the fences and pavement was a steep, wooded mountain. They could see Colorado Springs in the distance.

“We need to find out if the town has been hit. And we need to find help,” Quinn said.

“Then we will have to take a vehicle,” Teal’c said and started for one of the standard black SUVs that were always parked nearby.

“I knew it!”

Teal’c, Nyan, and Quinn spun around at Raythe’s shout. They found him just inside the mountain entrance, at the metal detector and package scanner that people usually had to go through in order to go further into the mountain. Raythe was triumphantly holding a silicone muffin carrier over his head and smirking at Sands, who was asleep on the floor. “Major Griff was right all along. She bribes them!”

The two soldiers slumped behind the monitor had another muffin carrier on their console.

“John’Raythe, this is not relevant to the current situation.”

Raythe ‘humph’ed and tucked Sands’ muffins under one arm. Then he took a second to reposition her into a less contorted position. “I am telling Jeff about this when you wake up.”

Teal’c urged the group into the vehicle and took a seat behind the wheel. Nyan, who was most familiar with the town, took the other front seat. Teal’c started the car and said, “Everyone must now lock your safety straps into place.”

“What?” Raythe asked.

“I think he said to buckle your seatbelts,” answered Nyan. Teal’c ignored them both and backed the SUV out of the parking space and onto Norad Road.

Nyan offered directions to possible checkpoints. “There’s a park just to the right up here. It’s not real big. But if we continue east, we’ll hit the highway and Colorado Springs proper. We’ll definitely be able to find out if whatever has happened in the SGC has happened out here. There’s also the zoo up north a bit.”

“And that would be a good place to check?” Quinn asked.

“No, it’s just nice there. The giraffes are neat. There’s a good botanical garden.”

Any response was cut off when Teal’c slammed the brakes, and the vehicle screeched to a stop, rocking all four passengers.

“What the hell, Teal’c?” Raythe complained. Then he looked out the windshield. Another car, a small, light blue one, was abruptly stopped in front of them. There was a young woman, clearly shocked, sitting behind the wheel. “Well, I suppose that answers the question of whether or not this has affected the outside yet if she’s awake.”

“No it does not,” Teal’c said. He put the car in park and, without shutting off the engine, got out. “Cassandra!”

The little blue car turned off, and the woman – actually a teenage girl – got out. She rushed to Teal’c and hugged him. “Oh God, Teal’c, I thought I was the only one. Everyone’s asleep, even my neighbors. I couldn’t wake up Mom, and no one at the base is answering the phone.”

Raythe, Nyan, and Quinn all looked at each other guiltily inside the car. That hadn’t even thought to try calling anyone. Raythe wondered if General Hammond’s special red telephone was ringing in his office right now.

“Yes, Cassandra, everyone at the base is also asleep. It appears to be affecting only Earth-born humans. We are investigating now to find out how far this phenomenon has traveled.” 

Cassandra nodded and wiped roughly at her face. Raythe realized that she had been crying. Teal’c led the girl to the back seat and opened the door for her. Quinn shuffled over to the middle, pushing him shoulder to shoulder with Raythe. 

“Cassandra, this is Jonas’Quinn, John’Raythe, and Nyan. Like you, they are not from Earth.”

Cassandra nodded again, though she started a bit when she saw Raythe. But then she climbed into the back seat next to Quinn. “Hi,” she said bruskly, apparently embarrassed by her emotion outside the car. “I’m Cassie. I’m, well, I’m Janet Fraiser’s daughter.”

“Oh, Dr. Fraiser!” Raythe said. “I like her. She’s nice.” He offered Cassandra a muffin.

“Yeah, she’s definitely that.” She took the muffin and then immediately put all her energy into ignoring her mother’s friends.

~

“This is pointless!” Raythe shouted two hours later. They were in downtown Colorado Springs. By some miracle, it was a warm winter, which, for Colorado Springs, meant that there was no snow on the ground. Raythe was reasonably comfortable with the chill, but he was still annoyed that his second venture off-base was so boring. There were no video games, Teal’c wouldn’t let him drive, and all the people – the delicious-looking people – were asleep. He walked a little further down South Weber Street, past a car lot. He yelled at Nyan again, who was half a block down, checking inside a car where the driver had run into a store front. The others were spread out nearby but not within shouting distance. “Clearly, everyone is asleep. We don’t need to keep checking.”

Nyan pulled his head out of the car and stepped over broken glass. The crash didn’t look too bad. He shouted back, “We’re looking for the border! We need to find out how far this goes!”

Raythe rolled his eyes – a habit he had picked up from Bell – and approached a bus stop on the corner of Weber and Costilla. There was a sleeping man sitting on the bench there. What a surprise.

But, he thought, this was quite the opportunity. He was currently unsupervised, the man wasn’t going to make any noise, and hunger was starting to burn up his arm and through his veins. Nothing too worrying, yet, but still. He had survived this long by taking chances when he got them. If he passed this up, there was no telling when he would next be able to feed. That was always a concern for him, hiding here among his friends. He never knew when he was going to get his next meal.

On the other hand, he wouldn’t have the time to hide the body, and television told him that such a death would be investigated by police. Certainly, police wouldn’t be able to tie anything to him, they might even write it off as some sort of reaction to whatever was happening to the Earthlings right now. But Nyan was just a few hundred feet away. Even if he didn’t see anything, he knew Raythe was over here. If there was an investigation, and it ended up on the news, Nyan could possibly make the connection. But such opportunities -.

Raythe’s mental debate was cut off when he saw something bright yellow move up ahead. He looked up, at the next intersection further down Costilla Street. There were people! In hazmat suits. He quickly ducked back behind the row of cars on display at the dealership. He didn’t think anyone had seen him. The people had been moving perpendicular to him, and those suits didn’t allow for much in the way of peripheral vision.

He silently sprinted back to Nyan, who startled at suddenly finding Raythe standing next to him. Raythe put his finger to his lips to keep him quiet, then whispered, “There are biohazard technicians here. In containment suits. We need to leave. I don’t wish to explain what we’re doing here or why we’re awake.”

Nyan nodded and pulled out the radio hooked onto his belt. He pressed the button on the side and said, “Teal’c, Raythe saw some hazmat people here.”

There was a second of static, then, _“Understood. Everyone, return to the vehicle. Avoid being seen.”_

“No kidding,” Raythe said.

~  
Everyone agreed that the car was too loud and would attract attention, so they had to hike back to the mountain. Nyan and Cassandra were visibly unhappy but, to their credit, didn’t complain the whole way.

Raythe, however, had been spending too much time around Bell and had no such restraint. “Well, that was pointless. We could have just waited here the whole time and gotten our information from the news.”

He turned on the television, this time in the briefing room.

“We had no way of knowing how long it would take for the media to figure out what was going on,” Nyan said. “And it’s unlikely that anyone in those hazmat people know about the SGC.”

Raythe found a Denver news station and turned up the volume to hear an anchorwoman say, _“The Center for Disease Control is still unsure what is causing the sleeping sickness or how it is being spread. Officials say the condition appears to be limited to southern Colorado Springs…”_

The woman went into detail about how the CDC was restricting access and evacuating the northern part of the city, which was apparently still awake.

Quinn frowned at the screen while Raythe and Nyan bickered about what could be causing it. Teal’c stood beside Cassandra and silently watched Quinn go into General Hammond’s office then return a few minutes later with a local map and a ruler. He laid it out on the table and started making marks with a big black pen. Then he made some lines with the ruler.

Teal’c realized that Quinn was making telemetry calculations. “Jonas’Quinn, have you found something?”

“I think we’ve been thinking about this all wrong. We assumed that the point of origin of whatever this is is here, at the SGC. The CDC is assuming it started in southern Colorado Springs. But I think we're both wrong. There was a strong wind last night, blowing east by southeast. If this is some sort of airborne contagion, which seems most likely, then that puts the point of origin… here.” Quinn pointed dramatically to the map. The others just gaped.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Raythe said.

~  
Two hours later, Raythe shifted the heavy pack on his back. The equipment would probably be unnecessary, but Raythe wanted to be prepared. They had left Cassandra back at the mountain next to a phone and with a promise to call every twenty minutes, so Raythe and his three companions looked up at the large red building that was the entrance to the source of their current problems.

Cheyenne Mountain Zoo.

There was even a cheery display advertising the new komodo dragon exhibit. Raythe kicked it over out of spite. “Are you sure about this, Nyan?”

Quinn answered instead. “I’m pretty sure about my calculations. I mean, I’d have to know the size and shape of the contagion to be sure, and if it’s radiation -.”

“No, I’m not sure, but it seems most likely,” Nyan said. “Four months ago, the zoo’s botanical garden got an exotic flower gifted to them. It’s very rare, and it’s bloom has never been recorded. But it was estimated to bloom sometime this month. Apparently, it likes the cold. Which just goes to show that it’s a dumb flower.”

The group passed the ticket booths and followed signs to the botanical gardens. There were sleeping people all over the paths and near exhibits. Apparently, zoo keepers got to work early. The gardens were near an area called The Corral, where there were some tiny horses whining to be fed.

The flower in question was easy to find. It was actually planted outside the greenhouse, in the cold that it loved. There was a plaque in front of it, declaring it the _liliaceae mcguffin_. The flower bed was raised two feet off the ground, and the flower itself was nearly four feet tall. It was clearly in full bloom, with deep pink oblong petals with raised purple spots on them. Nyan hopped onto the flower bed to look the plant over. 

“Yeah, I think these spots are actually some sort of pods. They look kind of… open. Like there’s holes in them. And… I can feel something coming out of the holes. I’m almost positive it’s releasing some sort of gas.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Raythe said. He started unpacking his gear.

“Good enough for what?” Quinn asked as he turned. He was just in time to see Raythe hook a tube to the canister strapped to his back. Raythe pulled a trigger on the tube, and a three-foot stream of fire shot out the other end.

“Ah!” Quinn yelled and stepped back from the madman.

“When did you get a flamethrower?” Teal’c dispassionately asked.

“Just before we left. There are a couple in the armory.” Raythe grinned, quite pleased with his new toy so far.

“No no no,” Nyan said and stepped over on the planter a bit so that he blocked Raythe. 

Raythe’s grin dropped. “Why not? It’s not like we have the time to test the gas coming out of there. We need to destroy it. If nobody wakes up after a while, then we’ll think of something else.”

“First of all, that is a terrible way to test a hypothesis. Second, this plant is very rare. It might be the only one there is. Losing it would be a terrible tragedy to this planet’s botanical history.”

Raythe nodded a bit as he thought about it. “You’re points are well-made and completely valid. But… I’m still going to set it on fire.” He pulled the trigger again, and his manic grin returned.

Helpless, Nyan turned pleading eyes to Teal’c. Instead of stopping Raythe, Teal’c just held out his hand to Nyan to offer to help him down. Deflated, Nyan took the hand down and moved out of the way.

Grinning, Raythe turned the flames on the flower and quickly got to work ridding the world of it.

~  
It was evening by the time people started waking up. Cassandra was actually the first to find out, as she was avidly watching the news in the briefing room. 

“A new development is just coming in. The CDC claims that those on the outer edge of the phenomenon are waking up, and that those further in are showing increased signs of wakefulness. Is it possible that this whole thing was on some sort of timer, or is something else at work? Stay tuned for…”

“Whoo-hoo!” Cassandra yelled, encouraging the four men in the room to pay closer attention to the news than the dinner they had set out. But Cassandra ran into General Hammond’s office and picked up his phone – the black one, not the red one. “Out, out, how do I dial out?”

“Press 9,” Teal’c called over to her.

She dialed. “Hello? Mom? No, I’m fine. I’m totally fine. No, I’m at your work, with Teal’c. Yeah, he’s fine too. There’s still a lot of sleeping people, but we’re okay.” She gave Teal’c a thumbs up through the doorway. He smiled at her.

After that, it took another hour for the mountain’s filtering systems to clear all the old air out of the 20-plus underground levels. But once it did, there were some very uncomfortable SGC personnel (and one slightly singed cook) asking a lot of questions.

In the end, it was the CDC that determined that an unknown gas was responsible for knocking everyone out. They figured that it was a freak reaction with an otherwise innocuous protein in the human bloodstream. It was the SGC genetics lab that determined that the gene that created this protein had only evolved in the last seven thousand years or so. Nyan and Quinn didn’t have the protein because their ancestors had separated from Earth humans at least ten thousand years ago. The geneticists got very excited about this, as it gave them a basis for mapping comparisons between Earth humans and alien humans.

The botany department was less excited. They were actually pretty furious with Raythe for setting fire to what they had come to consider their plant. Good thing for Raythe that he didn’t hang out on that level much. He was just glad that no one was ratting him out to the zoo people, who had to be very confused at this point.

Instead, he sat on his couch and waited for Sands to wander in. Which she did, at 21:04. She cringed as she sat next to him. “I feel like I’ve been sleeping on concrete for the past 18 hours.”

Raythe just passed her something from the silicone carrier on the end table. “Muffin?”


	17. Season 7 Clipshow

**Season 7 Clipshow**

_June 14, 2003_

There was quite the excited buzz throughout the base. There had been for days. And finally, finally Raythe was able to push his way through the horde of onlookers and well-wishers to see for himself.

Daniel Jackson was in his office. At his desk. Drinking coffee.

All was right in the world.

~

_June 20, 2003_

Sands passed a couple of guards escorting a teenager down the hall. “Who’s the kid?” she asked. ‘The kid’ scowled at her, and the guards ignored her.

Raythe, a few paces behind her, said, “Good morning, Colonel O’Neill.” 

“See! See! _He_ recognizes me!”

The guards pushed their charge to a holding room. Sands waited for Raythe to catch up to her. “What was that about?” she asked.

“What was what about?” Raythe said, apparently unaware that there was anything different about the colonel today.

Sands hung her head in frustration.

~

_June 30, 2003_

“Jeffery, of German origin. It means ‘traveler’. Well, that’s apt, given your profession. Perhaps your parents wanted to inspire you to explore beyond their own limitations. Though I wonder why a couple of Koreans gave you a German name.”

“What’s this? What’s he doing?” Griff demanded of Sands and Bell.

“We can’t make him stop,” Bell complained.

“After we told him where we were from, he became interested in the different cultures and languages around the world.” Even Sands seemed a little drawn. “Doctor Jackson gave him a book on name etymology.”

“What?”

“It’s a fancy linguistic version of a baby name book.”

“Oh.”

“He’s been looking up everyone’s names since.”

“Yes, Doctor Jackson gave me a map as well so that I could find the original countries mentioned. Let’s see… Michael.” 

“Oh no.”

Raythe turned a few pages. “It sounds like one of those Hebrew names with ‘God’ in it. Yes, here. ‘Who is like God?’. Well, that’s silly. I thought the whole point was that no one was like God.”

Sands and Bell gave each other a confused look. Sands asked, “John, you believe in God?”

“What? No, of course not. But I recognize the need for less sophisticated beings to believe that there is some divine being looking out for them. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll grow out of it eventually.”

Griff snorted. Even Bell rolled his eyes. Raythe ignored them both. “My name is also Hebrew, and rather religious, in origin. It means ‘graced by God’ but uses a different form of the name God. I’m not sure of the distinction; I should ask.” Without paying attention to his team, Raythe wandered off to find Jackson.

Griff turned to Sands. “So what does Kylie mean?”

Kylie closed her eyes and stuck her tongue against her left top canine. It was the most visibly annoyed Griff had ever seen her. “Curved.”

Bell chortled, and Griff couldn’t help but smile too.

“Like a boomerang.”

Bell broke down and gave full belly laughs. 

“It’s Australian aboriginal, my mom was a fan of anything south of the equator, and would you stop laughing please!”


	18. Far From Home

_July 11, 2003_

SG-2’s specialty was in search and rescue. More often than not, they ended up exploring new worlds, like any other SG team, but occasionally they were called out to fish SG-1 out of a crack in a glacier they had gotten themselves stuck in.

Sands used to be a pararescue before she joined the SGC. Her experience jumping out of helicopters in hostile territory was rarely used now (what with helicopters not fitting through the stargate), but her EMT training came in handy constantly.

Bell, while an excellent melee combatant and sharpshooter, actually had a background in radio communications. Once he came to the SGC, his mechanical skills got directed more towards using (or hacking into) Goa’uld technology.

Raythe had been a natural addition to their team, once they worked out the kinks of working with an alien. Even though he had been a ship navigator (or one in training, as Griff had later learned), he was actually a skilled tracker. Apparently, all Wraith learned ground-based hunting skills as part of their basic training. It had something to do with honoring their roots as planet-dwelling hunters. Griff thought it all sounded a bit Klingon to him, but who was he to judge?

Griff didn’t have a background in search and rescue. He had been in the military since he was a teenager, and his experiences were rather varied. He had discovered very quickly that his current job had less to do with his actual training and more to do with his ability to wrangle a group of people with disparate skills and personalities and focus them on the task at hand. Plus, he actually got his paperwork done on time, unlike some colonels he knew.

Today, their skills had a chance to shine.

SG-14 made contact with a village three miles from the stargate on a new planet. The terrain was hilly and a bit arid, and the stargate itself was in a deep valley. The people had been cautious but friendly once they realized that SG-14 wasn’t Goa’ulds. As one might expect in such an area, their village was agrarian-based (there were so many goats), and while the Goa’uld raided them for hosts and food every few years, there hadn’t been any sign of Anubis on the planet.

The only problem was that the villagers were rather distracted when SG-14 showed up. A man that had been teaching his son to hunt hadn’t been seen for two days. They were afraid that they might have gotten lost if they went towards the nearby mountains, which were rocky and rarely used to grow crops or raise animals.

SG-14 offered to help, but rather than go stomping around unfamiliar ground, they called in SG-2. General Hammond had agreed to let them go and had even sent them with a bonus – a new UAV with a portable control system and attached infrared scanner that read out onto a new tablet computer. 

Bell was so happy.

Griff had then split the team into two. Sands and Raythe headed into the scrubland, towards the mountains, to see if Raythe could find a trail. Bell and Griff started in the village, running the UAV remotely in a sweeping search pattern in the same direction. They would move further towards the mountains as the UAV reached the limit of its remote controller. Whoever found the missing pair first won. Secretly, Griff was betting on Bell’s technology beating out Raythe’s old-school tracking. 

He won that bet, too. Bell’s UAV found two humanoid heat signatures within just two hours. Sands and Raythe, who were closer, were sent to help. It turned out that the hunters hadn’t even made it into the mountains. There had been a rockslide at the base, trapping both father and son in a shallow cave. They were bruised and dehydrated, but no permanent damage was done. In all, it was a good day.

With promises to return in a few days, SG-2 decided to head home.

The sun was starting to set behind the hills during their hike back to the stargate. Griff saw the sunlight glint off the giant ring as his team came down to the valley below the village. It made him smile. It was alright to smile this one time. His team was walking behind him and couldn’t see.

“You know, Kylie, that guy you rescued was a widower,” Griff heard Bell say. “I heard he’s looking to remarry.”

Sands gave a distinctly unlady-like snort. “So?”

“So, being rescued by a beautiful and talented foreigner is always fun. Could be something there.”

Raythe decided to pitch in to Bell’s humor. “I’d believe it. He’s trapped, worried for his son, then there’s a crack of light, and with it the hope for rescue. Reaching out for him, haloed by golden light -.”

Bell had started laughing in earnest when Sands interrupted. “OK, I think you both have been reading romance novels. Seriously, John, where did you even hear something like that?”

“I’m very resourceful.”

“Besides,” Sands said, “I’m not even the one that found them. You found them, Jeff, and John did most of the digging to get them out.”

“Yeah,” Bell conceded, “but I doubt he’d be into John. And I think I prefer the nerdy brunette that wanted to know how the UAV flew.”

“What’s that?” Raythe asked.

“There’s not exactly a shortage of nerdy brunettes at the SGC, Jeff.”

“Shut up!” Griff yelled, and Bell and Sands immediately quieted. Griff looked at Raythe, who was staring back towards the mountains but a little off from the direction of the village. “Raythe, what’s what?”

“You don’t feel it? It’s a… pressure. It’s heavy. I don’t know what it is.”

Bell and Griff looked at each other and shrugged. Sands knelt down almost flat and put her ear to the ground. She listened for a few seconds.

Then her eyes widened in alarm, and she snapped upright. “Get to high ground!” She ran, not for the stargate, but sideways towards the nearest hillock.

The other three bolted after her, confused. But there was really only one reason to get to high ground so quickly.

A flash flood.

Griff felt it before he heard it, deep in the ground through the soles of his boots, and heard it before he saw it. It was a deep, dull crash that got louder and louder as it echoed in the hills.

Sands and Raythe pulled a bit ahead of him and started up the slope. 

Then the crash broke into the valley. Griff made the mistake of looking. It wasn’t the wall of water he was expecting. The wave front was only a few feet tall, but the speed of it was astounding. The ground at his feet disappeared beneath the water before he even realized he was wet, and his footing slid. 

Bell slid much more and dropped to his hands and knees on the slope. The water swept over his thighs, and the force of it spun him onto his back. Griff dug his hand into shrubbery on the hillside and grabbed Bell’s vest without even thinking. The force of the current pulling on Bell nearly dislocated Griff’s shoulder, and he would have lost his grip on the scrub of the hill had Raythe not grabbed his arm from above. Bell couldn’t get his feet under him. 

“Drop the UAV, you idiot!” Griff yelled over din of the flood.

Bell, apparently startled that he was still holding the little plane, let go. It disappeared below the water immediately, and Bell was able to grip the dirt below him and push himself a bit out of the water with his hands. Sands shuffled back down the hill and helped him up.

The four of them scrambled to the top of the hill, just a few feet above the water line. They were panting, and Bell was soaked from the waist down. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself.

“What the hell was that?” Raythe demanded.

Griff cradled his arm up to his chest, but nothing seemed broken. “A flash flood,” he answered. “Probably came down from the mountains.”

“Sir, we need to get Bell warmed up before it rains,” Sands said. “That water is freezing.”

Bell nodded his agreement, but his chattering teeth prevented him from saying anything. Sands took her pack off and pulled out an emergency blanket.

“It’s going to rain?” Raythe asked. The sky was clear, and it was still warm out.

Sands pointed to the mountains. There were dark clouds there. “The rain is probably what melted any ice up there. It’ll be raining here in about forty minutes.” She helped Bell wrap the blanket around his waist and said to him, “Take off your pants.”

He gave her a Look.

“Don’t be a boob about it, just take off your pants. The rain shouldn’t be too cold, so if you manage to not freeze to death within the next few minutes, you can put them back on and be just as soaked as the rest of us are about to be.”

“OK,” Griff interrupted. He sat down to remove his boots and socks. They had also gotten wet. Luckily, he had a dry pair of socks in his pack. “The SGC is expecting us to come home or at least check in by thirteen hundred hours, which is in just under two hours. They’ll probably give us an hour leeway before they call us. That means we just have to tough it out in some rain for a grand total of three hours before they send us some help. It’ll be rough going, mostly because we’re being subjected to a pantsless Bell –“

Bell huffed. He was sitting cross-legged on the ground with just the foil-like blanket around his lower half.

“-but I think we’ll survive.”

Griff looked around. Their little hill was actually at the end of a crest of hills that networked into the series of rolling hills that surrounded the stargate. Most of the nearby land was actually above water. Sadly, any way back to the village was not. The stargate itself was at the other end of the valley, the bottom third in water. At least it wasn’t completely flooded. Only half of the buttons on the DHD were underwater.

“Our light is fading, and I want to be able to see if this water gets any higher. Raythe, Sands, go look around for higher land or something to keep the rain off us.”

The two nodded and attached flashlights to their P-90s.

~  
The ground was uneven, and Raythe could tell that the glare of the setting sun was impairing Sands’ vision. Truth be told, it was annoying him, too. He missed the infrared hunting goggles from back in his training days.

He felt a moment of melancholy just then, as he pushed through two waist-high shrubs, letting Sands scout in the other direction. He hadn’t thought about his old life at all in weeks. He tried to remember the force of his Queen’s mind, the sound of his Guide’s voice, or the once-familiar buzz of his hivemates’ thoughts. It was fading, he realized. That all seemed so far away, suddenly.

It was far away, of course. That was rather the point.

_Pain._

His thoughts were interrupted but a sudden and violent pain. It wasn’t his pain, but the intensity of it was strong enough to reach him even from a human mind.

He turned. “Kylie!”

He ran. Back through the bushes and around the short cliff of a higher hill. He shoved some brush aside and nearly tripped over Sands. She was crumpled into a heap on the ground, curled around a bleeding wound on her side, just below her ribs. There was a jagged knife lying beside her. 

“Kylie!” He knelt down to her, unsure of what to do. Then he heard a crash and saw a man, running in the opposite direction. He was holding Sands’ pack in one hand and her gun in the other.

Raythe stood, leveled his P-90, and shot once. The man, yards away, dropped.

 _“Raythe. Sands. What was that shot?”_ both radios crackled simultaneously.

Raythe knelt back down, ignoring his radio. Sands was conscious and gasping in pain. She looked at him pleadingly but said nothing. “Okay. It’s okay. I – I remember what to do.” He pulled gauze and a wrap out of his backpack and pressed it tightly against her wound.

_“Raythe! Sands! Respond, dammit!”_

Raythe gripped his radio. “Kylie’s been stabbed. We need help.” 

The rains hit. It was immediately pouring, soaking both of them in seconds. Sands’ blood washed off her and onto Raythe’s boots startlingly fast.

It took four minutes for Griff and Bell – once again fully dressed – to find them. Raythe could tell that Sands’ eyes were starting to lose focus on him. He looked over his shoulder when his teammates’ flashlights hit him. He realized that it had gotten dark. “Please. I don’t know what to do.”

“Shit!” Griff shouted. He pulled out his own gauze wrap. Bell took it and took over for Raythe at Sands’ side. Griff hauled Raythe up by his shoulder and made him turn to look at him. “Raythe, what happened?”

“There was a man – a thief. He ran that way,” he pointed, “but I shot him. I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay. John, I need you to focus.” Griff turned Raythe’s chin so he was forced to look back at him and not in the direction he was pointing. “We need shelter and light so we can help Kylie. Alright? You have the best eyes at night. Do you see anything?”

Raythe looked around, apparently somewhat confused. He looked back to where the man had been when Raythe shot him. There was something there, something built against one of the shallow cliffs. “There’s a shack over there. I think it’s the thief’s.” 

“Good. That’s good. Do you think you can carry Kylie there?”

Raythe nodded. Bell tied the wrap around Sands’ waist and moved out of the way. Sands gasped when Raythe picked her up and managed to focus on him again. “John?”

“It’s okay, Kylie,” Raythe said. “We’re getting you out of the rain.”

Raythe nodded in the direction they needed to go, and Griff and Bell tried to lead the way with their flashlights. It didn’t take long for Bell to find wooden paneling with his light, but it was what Griff found just outside the tiny shack that drew his attention. There was a man sprawled out on the mud-slicked ground with a bleeding bullet hole in his shoulder. He was alive, conscious, and clearly trying to crawl to the shack’s sagging door.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Griff growled and heaved the man up from behind by both his shoulders. The man screamed in pain but got his feet underneath him.

Bell got to the door first and pulled it open. Raythe carried Sands in first, following by Griff, half-dragging the assailant in with him.

Inside was dark, damp, and cramped. The shack was clearly put together haphazardly with previously discarded supplies and no real understanding of engineering. The back wall – fewer than ten feet away – leaned against the cliff face behind it and was where rainwater ran down one board to puddle on the dirt ground. The shack was about three times as long as it was wide, and there was barely enough space for five adults to fit inside. There were few items within, so it was at least uncluttered.

Griff shoved the thief into one corner, where he just curled into a whimpering ball and pressed one hand against his bleeding shoulder. Griff tied his hands and feet together with zip ties. Raythe laid Sands down on some blankets on the other side of the room. Bell pulled out a lantern and set it on the ground nearby. He pushed Sands’ jacket aside and lifted the gauze wrap to get a better look at the stab wound. His medic training was rudimentary, but even he could tell how deep the damage was and how quickly the blood was coming. He looked up at Griff and Raythe, who were hovering nearby, and shook his head.

Raythe roared and spun on his heel. Sands reached after his boot and muttered something unintelligible before she lost consciousness. Raythe pounded the door open and marched outside.

“Dammit, Raythe, get your ass back here!” Griff shouted and ran outside after him. He ran into Raythe’s pack on the ground and saw Raythe a few paces ahead, stripping off his jacket. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m a strong swimmer. I going to get help.”

“The hell you are. The current is too fast. Even if you don’t hit your head or drown, the odds of you not completely missing the DHD are non-existent.”

“I will not stand in there and watch her die.”

“I know. I know this is the hardest thing you’re ever going to have to do. I don’t know if you’ve ever lost anyone before -.”

“I have lost everyone!” Raythe screamed. Griff took a step back, not expecting the anger that was suddenly directed at him. “I lost my Guide in an ambush. I lost my first unit when a freak tear in space ripped me from my home. I lost my Queen, my Hive, and my whole damn species. I will not lose her too!”

Griff swung his flashlight and clocked Raythe across the jaw. Raythe stumbled back, though Griff suspected it was more out of surprise than anything else. “And I won’t lose two of my team today,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, John. But even if you could get to the stargate, you won’t bring help back in time.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Raythe whispered this time. Griff barely heard him over the rain.

“You go back inside, you hold her hand, and you tell her that everything is going to be okay. Because then at least she won’t have to die alone.”

Raythe wrapped his arms around himself and shook his head.

Because he had lied before.

He knew exactly what to do.

“No.” Raythe pushed past Griff and stormed back inside. Griff chased after him, confused at his sudden change in demeanor. Bell looked up, startled, as they came back in. He was holding Sands’ hand.

“Normally I ask Kylie this kind of thing, but you two are going to have to do. I know how much you value life, but there must be sacrifices you are willing to make.”

“John, what are you –?” Griff tried to ask, but Raythe just continued over him.

“If you could give his life,” Raythe pointed to the thief huddling in his corner, “to save hers,” he pointed at Sands, “would you?”

“What does that –?” 

“Yes.” Bell interrupted Griff with such gravity that Griff was startled into silence. He had never heard that tone from Bell before. “Yes, I would. She would hate me for it, but I would.”

It was quiet in the shack for a moment. The rain pounding against the roof and Sands’ ragged breathing were the only noise.

Raythe swallowed slowly. He had never actually done this before. Not to save a life, wraith or otherwise. “Then I need you both to leave. I don’t want you to see this.”

Bell stood and started to lead Griff out by the elbow. Griff shook his head and resisted. “No.”

“Sir, we need to go outside.” 

Griff hesitantly let Bell push him outside. Back in the rain, he immediately started to pace. Bell crossed his arms and leaned defensively against the door.

“What do you know?” Griff snapped accusingly at his subordinate.

“Nothing. Just… a suspicion.” 

A scream ripped through the night, startling Griff into stopping. Bell jolted at the noise but only hunched further into himself. Griff tried to push past Bell, but Bell grabbed his shoulders and wouldn’t let him by. The scream became desperate for a moment before it died out completely. Both men froze.

A second later, another scream came, this one shorter and higher pitched. This time, both Bell and Griff rushed back inside.

They found Raythe leaning over Sands, right hand hovering over her. She had sat up and was crawling backwards on her hands, away from Raythe. There was a bloody gash through her shirt and on her chest. Her face was mostly one of shock.

Bell scrambled forward and pushed Raythe aside. He checked Sands’ wound. It wasn’t there. There was only blood and undamaged skin. 

Sands looked down and ran her hand down her side. “What happened?”

“Jesus shit!” Griff shouted. Bell and Sands looked over. 

The thief was still balled up in the corner, but there was a gash in his chest. It wasn’t bloody, though. It looked like all the water had been sucked out of his body. His skin had been hollowed and dried up, and his hair was white and brittle. He looked like he had been dead for hundreds of years.

~  
It was a long, sleepless night. The rain let up after a few hours, and the flood quickly started to recede. Bell and Griff insisted Sands try to rest, even though she said that she felt fine. Raythe stayed outside and buried the body.

~  
Dawn was breaking by the time Bell came outside to get Raythe.

“I assume you have decided what to do with me,” Raythe said.

Bell didn’t answer but instead said, “Kylie wants to talk to you.”

He followed him inside. Griff was leaning against the back wall, and Sands sat cross-legged on the floor. Bell went and stood near Griff.

Raythe straightened his back and held his hands behind him, feet apart. “I am not sorry,” he said before anyone else could speak.

“We weren’t expecting or asking you to be,” Griff said. “That would be pretty hypocritical of us.”

“He means ‘thank you’,” Sands said quietly, “for saving my life.” She didn’t look at him or thank him herself. It was uncomfortably quiet for a moment before Sands said, “This is how you heal, isn’t it?”

She looked at him then. He nodded. “This is how we _live_.”

Sands looked over to the corner where, just a few hours ago, there was a husk of a person curled on the floor. “Does it have to be people?”

Raythe nodded again. “Yes, it only works with humans. And Jaffa, I’ve learned.”

Sands nodded and pressed her fingers together against her lips. “You’ve told us, before, about learning to hunt. About going to planets to gather livestock. You were talking about human beings.”

That train of thought was not going to go well for him, Raythe thought. “I’ve never hurt anyone from the SGC. Never anyone from Earth.”

“You can’t come back to the SGC with us, John,” Griff said abruptly.

“I have been a soldier for you. I saved Kylie’s life. I have saved all of your lives at least once.” There was an edge of panic to Raythe’s voice now.

“And now we are saving yours!” Sands shouted. 

Raythe settled again, and Griff continued. “You have managed to keep this a secret for almost three years, John. But how long do you think that will last? How long before someone finds out? What happens then? You’ll end up imprisoned or killed. No. We’ll tell them you got caught in the flood. The currents were fast, so it won’t be a surprise when they can’t find a body. But after this, you’re on your own.”

Raythe clenched his jaw and his fists. He inhaled deeply. Then he slowly unfurled his fingers, grabbed his pack, and walked out.

~  
Major Griff, Sergeant Bell, and Lieutenant Sands returned to Stargate Command a few hours later. They each told variations of the same story. Afterwards, they would only ended up speaking to each other one more time.

Michael Griff withdrew from commanding SG-2. He ended up stationed at the alpha site but would never accept another promotion.

Jeffery Bell was transferred to another unit. He stayed with the air force until his dying day.

Kylie Sands resigned from both the stargate program and the military. She became a civilian flight paramedic near her home town.

John Raythe was still far from home.


	19. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notice the time jump here. Episode tag for SGA S5 E20: Enemy at the Gate.

_January 9, 2009_

And then, suddenly, it was there. A presence. No, many of them, and far stronger than anything he had felt for years. They were distant, but their sheer number nearly crushed his awareness of anything else around him. He looked up to the evening sky even though he knew they were too far away – whole systems away – to see. Still, their presence was unmistakable.

Wraith had come to the Milky Way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends Far From Home. But with more to come.


End file.
